


Reaching out for Silver Linings

by Muspell



Series: Hardbacked and Leatherbound [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Racist Language, just people being shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: There’s a whole life he didn’t know. A whole person he didn’t know. A whole person Yuri considered his best friend.But who the fuck is he? Is anything Yuri thinks he knows actually true?Who the fuck is Otabek Altin, after all?Has he ever even known who his best friend was?-------------------------------------------Warnings are there for a reason, please have that in mind.Second part of the KazGang series, sequel to To Judge a Book by its Cover.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not putting up links just now, I'll be fixing this in due time. For now, just the names. 
> 
> speacial thanks to Draco, Art and Cande for betaing; and to Kata, and mountainbones to help me do the whole story, and structure, and just putting up with my bitching 24/7. You all are saints and I'm an anxious mess who doesn't deserve you. Thank you.

“You’re hanging around him a lot.”

Yuri almost falls off the bench he’s resting on after the podium at the sound of Viktor’s voice behind him. The old pervert must have been peeping in on his conversations again. 

“Why the hell do you care, geezer?”

“I don’t mean it as a bad thing, Yurio,” Viktor almost sings to him, both hands pressed on Yuri’s now stiff shoulders. The blond still clenches his cellphone hard on one hand, hiding its screen from view. As if it would make a difference now: Viktor has read enough to know which buttons to push. It’s not like there’s anything interesting there to read, is there? Just some audios and small talk and stuff like that. But it’s still private, for fuck’s sake. 

He shifts further to the edge the second he feels the hands on his shoulders move and the weight of Viktor on the bench. He scoffs for good measure: let it never be said that he hasn’t shown enough his reluctance to maintain the conversation he knew he was about to have. That he knew he couldn’t really avoid: after all, the gala is tonight and Yuri could either let him speak now or he’s gonna be looming around him all throughout the fucking party.

And Yuri is seventeen already, at least he deserves to be able to have one drink in peace. Just one. 

After the  _ Rostelecom Cup Incident, _ of which he remembers half of it at best, he knows not to rely on booze to do whatever he doesn’t dare to do. Specially because he’ll dare. No matter what. No matter where. 

Luckily, in the few weeks that have passed Otabek hasn’t mentioned anything too bad; certainly not anything he can’t remember. Sure, he can recall the whole grinding, feeling him against his back, holding him, guiding him… But it’s a club, it’s what people do in places like that, isn’t it?

He needs to stop kicking himself over it. Specially when kicking himself is not exactly what he’s doing every time he remembers the whole ordeal late at night, in bed. And plays the sound saturated grainy video again, just so he doesn’t forget a single detail. 

Even though he has every second of Otabek dancing with him permanently imprinted on his skin, as if the warmth of his hand was still there. 

“You still there?” 

Yuri whips his head so fast to glare at Viktor, having spent too long contemplating the beauty of the plain white wall for some reason. He gets a faceful of ponytail for his trouble. “What the fuck do you want?”

Viktor takes Yuri’s hand, still clutching the device, in both of his and smile that dumb heart shaped smile that makes Yuri’s insides turn upside down. “I was just telling you how wonderful you were out there. But-”

“I know.” Yuri takes a deep breath and moves his hand away once Viktor loses his grip on him. He stands up, his legs protesting under him. “I fucked up the quad triple combination. I  _ noticed. _ ” If there’s nothing that irritates him more than screwing up in a competition, it’s people trying to lighten the subject. Everything hurts, as it hadn’t before. He gets tired easily now. He got on his feet well enough to get to the GPF anyways, but he knew from the start he wasn’t keeping the gold. Since the first jump he barely landed, sloppy, almost tripping on his own feet.

At least he could still get silver, shadowed by Katsudon next to him on the podium. If he only hadn’t grown that tall... Piggy had nothing on him. Yuri just needed to skate a perfect performance to win.

He didn’t. 

He doesn’t need to hear about it again. 

“But you’re the  _ second _ best! So how about I get you a drink tonight?” Viktor keeps on smiling like an idiot. Of course he’s going to, he did that every time since Yuri entered the Seniors competitions. Because he was “a man” now. 

Yuri is just relieved they haven’t seen him actually drinking. As in downing a shot of fucking poison and three glasses of who knows what in a stupidly short amount of time. After drinking wine at dinner. With two idiots who don’t know the meaning of moderation. 

He is most definitely not gonna allow them to see that tonight either. Or ever. Definitely never.

“I’m not getting drunk with you, geezer. You better go watch your husband-”

“Oh, he’ll be  _ fine _ .” Viktor tries to lean on Yuri’s shoulders again but he jumps off the bench to stay at a safe distance. 

“He will not!” He sighs, exhausted. Everything hurts. Even his pride. And his patience is running thin enough for him to start having seconds thoughts about his resolutions. He probably does need a drink. But just one. No more. “I’ll be there, ok? Just...”  _ Let me breathe. _ “I will.”

Viktor gets up and grins. Of course he does. “I’m so glad to hear you say that!” Yuri still dodges him, a disgusted look on his face, when the old man tries to pull him into a hug. “We’ll see you there!”

Yuri just stares, stunned, at how easily Viktor changes the expression on his face. A habit acquired to survive his celebrity lifestyle, sure, but one that has never abandoned him. The smirk Viktor sported, flimsy, all sharp teeth and sharper words ready, was gone by the time he reaches the door. But Yuri is sure it’s there again, as Viktor stops for a second, his hand resting against the wooden frame. 

“Speaking of…” He doesn’t even turn to look at him, he doesn’t need to. Yuri can feel the venom in his words. “You’re staying all night at the gala. You leave with Yakov, and when he says.” Yuri wants to retort, yet doesn’t dare to interrupt. Not when Viktor sounds like this. He knows better than to say anything. 

“No more thug gangs for you.” Viktor turns, that terrifying glance in his eyes and the damn fake smile still there, still lingering in his voice. “No matter what Otabek says. Got it?”

Yuri feels his throat go dry, a shiver running down his spine. The dread Viktor’s tone provoked in him is something he can’t shake off since he was a kid: when Viktor wanted, he could be severe without even raising his voice. Without even dropping that damn smile.

That’s the worst part. 

Yuri nods. He has been repeating the same thing since they went back home from Moscow: Yuri would not be seeing Otabek anymore if _ those people _ keep showing up. But they weren’t even around most of the time, they’re Kazakhs! They’re too far off! Even then Viktor is, to put it somehow, afraid of them. Of their influence on Yuri.

As if Yuri’s not bad enough as he is. And the guys are nice, alright? They’re nothing but caring, they always ask how he’s doing and even get interested in his classes. Which he’s not interested in at all, but apparently Dasha is studying some degree of Chemistry and is really good at tutoring via text. 

He huffs at the empty locker room. He should have said something to Viktor. He should have said something any time, every time Viktor brought the subject. Yet he never did: he just stood there, quietly, listening. He knows better, yes, but he’s never said it. Yuri has never spoken about the guys, he’s never even defended them. 

He doesn’t really dare. After all, he’s only met them a few weeks ago. He knows practically nothing about them. In fact, he knows at least a couple of them know each other from a local jail cell after some petty stupid shit they pulled off. But he can’t remember who was involved in that story.

Maybe Viktor and Yakov are right. Maybe they are a bad influence. Maybe they’re trying to earn his trust.

Them. But not Beka; he wouldn’t. And he’s their friend. They can’t possibly be that bad, can they?. 

He searches for strength, or courage, or whatever in the only place he always finds it. 

> Viktor is freaking out about your people again

< Bring a proper jacket. I’ll see you tonight?

 

Yuri is positively trembling about all the ways in which the Gala could go wrong. But Otabek always knows how to make him feel safe, after all.  


* * *

 

In the past thirty minutes, Yuri has developed a nervous tic of tugging at his hair tie securing a loose braid over his shoulder every time someone told him how good he was. Tug. How incredible his performance was. Tug. Even though he fucked up. Tug. 

They never say that, but he can see it on their faces. They want to ask.Yakov won’t allow them. 

Yuri knows all about the growth spurt pains and changing your balance and re-learning his moves… All of it. He knows the speech, he knows the drill. It’s his body that’s not cooperating. That wakes him up at night with a stinging in  his lower back or a cramp in  his legs. Or worse, with the memory of his best friend caressing his body under the bright flickering lights and….

Well, it’s safe to say Yuri hasn’t slept too well for a while. 

Judging by the burning on his hip where his skin meets the hard leather of his belt over the suit pants, he knows he won’t be sleeping much tonight either. He remembers the sharp pain the second he touched the ice and stood back up, not enough of a blow to actually hurt him but hard enough to leave a deep blue mark over the side of his hipbone. The friction makes him feel like it’s on fire. 

He dislodges himself from the vigilant eyes of Yakov and Lilia and leaves the reporters asking questions to thin air, to walk at the bar where Mila is shuffling on her phone, champagne flute in hand. They’ll be entertaining his coaches for a while still. At least he gets a bit of a break.

“How come you don’t get babysat as well?” 

She smiles and hands him a a flute for himself, taking a sip of hers before answering. “Because I don’t post pictures of myself rubbing against a hot DJ all night, maybe?”

Yuri knows better than to down the drink in a second, but the need to hide the blush on his face is stronger than him. He leans his back on the bar just to distract himself watching other people mingle. Trying to forget Otabek’s body against his. “I did not.” Trying to forget Mila’s eyes practically drilling into his skull.

“Oh?” She orders something  from the bartender, and two more glasses show up. She leans in close to get the empty flute out of Yuri’s hands and seize the moment to whisper into his ear. “I guess that part was implied then.” A cold glass is pressed against his hand where the flute was; Yuri is too startled to reply, just bites his lip and clicks his tongue. He knows better than to try to shut her up; she knows better than to believe his bullshit. She was there after all, even though he has no clue of what she might have seen. “My bad.” She smiles and turns back, staring at the crowd. 

Chulanont’s in deep conversation, laughing loudly with Katsudon and De la Iglesia, who is permanently glancing at his phone and back. He must miss someone, too. 

Viktor chats quietly with Chris, glaring at Yuri from time to time. In his own way, that is: smiling warm and wide, hiding the threat behind his press-friendly facade. Yuri looks for them, but can’t see any of the Kazakh team. He knows Otabek was bringing his family with him this time, but not him, nor them, not even his coach seemed to be around. 

Has something happened? 

He realizes he’s let out a long sigh when he notices Mila’s eyes on him again. “Are we okay, kitten?”

He’s fought that nickname with her for years. In total honesty, he doesn’t really care. Said like this, in a warm, soothing low tone, he knows she’s trying to calm him. He appreciates the gesture. There’s not many people who know how to do that after all: only her, his grandfather, and…

“Yeah.” He takes a sip of the drink in his hand. Orange juice and a slight hint of alcohol at the end of it. Not bad. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, barely noticing how stiff his body was, focusing on finding his friend in the crowd. He’s clearly not here, anyways, so why bother? “I’m just gonna get some air.”

She waves him off with a wink, trying to hide the sad smile on her lips. She must have heard. Everyone must know by now. Viktor’s pissed, Yakov is scared shitless, and Mila knows they’re not enough to make Yuri stop seeing Otabek. She’s always known more than she cares to say out loud. She doesn’t even needs to say anything for him to notice that. 

Yuri’s almost tempted to run into her arms like he did when they were kids. He only sighs the thought away, too many people watching, too many questions. He’s not in the mood for no one’s bullshit tonight. No one’s but his own. 

He steps out and leans over the balcony: the cold Vancouver breeze caresses his skin, numbing his thoughts for a second just as the glass in his hands has numbed his fingertips already. He lets out a long breath and lifts his head up, listening only to the sounds of the city, forgetting about the dull too-stuck up party behind him. 

“It’s getting tough, huh?” Yuri suddenly clenches his glass in fear of dropping it to the abyss when he hears the playful voice behind him. 

“What the f-” He turns to see Otabek leaning against the wall, away from the crowd’s view, holding a beer bottle in his hand. Probably empty. Most likely empty. “How long have you been here? You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Sorry.” Otabek leaves his definitely empty bottle on the floor to lean on the rail besides Yuri, his hair cascading from his ponytail on his shoulder. Their arms brush slightly, yet the older man doesn’t turn around to speak. “I was waiting for you.” 

Yuri shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thoughts knotted into a mess of different sensations. Yet he can’t say a thing. What could he say, anyways? That he’s missed him? That he’s forbidden to talk to him, and yet here he is? That he’s not supposed to be alone at all, much less with him? 

That all he wants is to hold him again, to feel Otabek’s breath on his skin again, that he wants to go back and relive that night again, and this time remember every single detail, every single touch? 

Wouldn’t that be weird? Creepy? He’s a friend, they’re friends. Friends don’t think about each other that way. Friends don’t dream of each other  _ that way _ . Yuri’s at least certain Otabek doesn’t, and that’s enough for him. 

Isn’t it?

Still, the silence is not helping feeling less uncomfortable. “I thought you ditched me to stay with your family.”

He hears a scoff. Tries to acknowledge it as a playfully tired gesture, but to his ears it sounds truly exhausted. Defeated. Otabek never sounds like that, he must be imagining things. 

“We’re quite a big family, you know,” Otabek smiles into his words to loosen up the tension suddenly created between them. Yuri feels his fingers reach for the glass and allows him to take it, letting his concerns wash off his stiffened shoulders under the warm touch. “ Even facing the wrath of Viktor is more peaceful than dinner with  _ them _ .” 

He emphasizes the word and Yuri is tempted to ask. He knows Otabek adores his sisters, especially the one Yuri hasn’t met yet; but that doesn’t mean they’re necessarily easy to deal with, right? It’s just an expression. It has to be. Even when Otabek isn't one to beat around the bush, not one to hide stuff from him. 

But Yuri still feels that’s what he’s been doing lately. Since the pictures went public and a good number of attendants to the party back in Moscow posted their own version of the night. Sure, nothing too scandalous was said; they were only dancing, after all, but still, something’s changed in Otabek since then. Something made him more secretive, as he never was before. 

Or it might just be Yuri’s mind trying to complicate things again. To overthink a really simple situation: parents are demanding, banquets are easier. That must be all of it, nothing more. 

Can’t be anything more. He’s got a supporting family who would travel all the way to Vancouver for him. That, in Yuri’s eyes, was dedication. And love. He’s got a family with him. 

Yuri knows he’s got his too: of skaters, and colleagues and coaches even if he’d die before admitting it, but he’s still curious about how an actual family would feel like. How a crowded nosy holiday at home feels like. 

He’s not asking that. He prefers to just change the subject and ignore the sudden knot in his throat. 

“Then why aren’t you in there, facing him?” 

Otabek chuckles and take a sip of Yuri’s drink, a smug look in his eyes. “Because I’d rather spend this time with you, of course.”

Yuri feels like the the wind on his face feels hotter, has the whim to take his suit jacket off. Isn’t it winter? He looks away and scoffs to hide the deep red on his face. His fingers start fidgeting: he misses that damn glass now, at least he had something to do with his hands. He tries to outsmart Otabek still. “You still hid from him.”

He looks back at the silence and notices the drink’s already gone; Otabek seems deep in thought, stoic as ever, if not actually… Hurt? 

He couldn’t be; if anything, Yuri was sure Otabek had a strictly professional relationship with Viktor: there’s nothing he could say that could bring that expression out.

Otabek breathes in deeply, as if the words were stuck on his throat and it takes a lot of work to pull them out. And it hurts in every inch of the way. “Yeah, I just…” He looks up to the clear sky. Smiles. It looks like a surrender. “He’ll ask questions I don’t have the answers for.”

Yuri tries to push the curiosity down and find the right words to stop it. Stop the pain Otabek’s trying to hide. Stop his own when he looks into his friend’s eyes.  _ He provoked this.  _

“Let’s go somewhere then.” Yuri tries to sound disinterested; he earns a fond smile. The shadow in his friend’s eyes is still there, but at least he’s sincerely smiling now. “Anywhere, just…” 

He feels a hand on his. He gets pulled against his friend’s chest, who lifts their clasped hands up as if they were about to dance.

“I’m leading tonight, then?”

Yuri punches his arm more sweetly than he’ll ever admit, secretly cursing Mila for pulling his hair out of his face for the night. He realizes he’s grinning and blushing like a little girl with a crush. “You fucking idiot.”

Otabek laughs.Yuri can’t care about anything else, can’t focus abut on anything but his laughter. 

He feels he gets lost in it forever. 

It’s not a bad thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Yuri goes back to the hall only to be jumped on by Viktor; a silly smile plastered on his face and the stench of too much champagne on his breath, which makes Yuri wrinkle his nose. He couldn’t have been out for so long, and Viktor’s already drunk? That’s either too stupid or too desperate. He chooses not to guess. 

“Yu-rio!” Viktor sings a bit too loud in his ear, and Yuri pushes him away. “I missed you!” Viktor  _ pouts _ . Seriously? And to think Yuri was intimidated by this gigantic man child. “Where were you?” That childish tone of his makes Yuri’s blood runs cold for some reason. It would sound natural from anyone else, anyone far enough, but Yuri knows better: Viktor is studying his reactions, his body language, and he will analyze every word he might say. 

Still, Yuri is not one to chicken out before a challenge. Even if that challenge is the guy that can work Yakov like a wooden puppet, moving at whatever song he decides to sing. He knows best than to be a coward. Not answering would only put him in a worse position: “Out? I never left, old man, you were just…” He gestures at the middle of the hall where Katsudon’s already dancing while Chulanont encourages him, phone in hand and ready (or already) to record. “ _ Too distracted. _ ”

He visibly cringes when Viktor puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Oh, you were  _ alone _ this whole time?”

Yuri lists every answer he can think of. No? But then Viktor would be out to get Otabek, and maybe, not, surely make a scene. And the reporters would appear out of nowhere with cameras and uncomfortable question, they always do.

A simple yes? Please, even Viktor isn’t as thick as to believe that. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know: he wants to see Yuri falling into the trap, he wants to see him lying at his face. He wants Yuri like this: trapped, staring like an encaged animal, showing his teeth out of anger. An anger not directed to anyone, just to  _ this:  _ the whole of it. His mentors denying him of his closest friend, his lifeline. 

Yuri curls his hands into fists at his sides, yet doesn’t move. Hisses through his teeth, yet says nothing. Viktor almost falls face first at the sudden weight on his arm.

“Well, he’s alone  _ now, _ isn’t he?” Mila shows up with the brightest, biggest smile she can come up with, and an enthusiasm that sets Viktor off his character. He’s just startled, staring at her like she’s just materialized before him. “And way too sober for a Gala.” She mockingly frowns at Yuri, who’s dropped all tightness on his jaw, his fingers not digging half moons into his palms anymore, to look at her curiously. “But don’t worry, Vitya: I can fix that!” she lets the older man’s arm go to tug at Yuri’s wrist, dragging him behind her to the bar. 

Yuri can do nothing but follow her. He wants to do nothing but follow her. He doesn’t know on who else to rely on anymore. It’s like a bad dream: all of this… family forms around him just to be snatched away at the first minor inconvenience. Because he calls it that: an inconvenience, a misunderstanding. Viktor, Katsudon, Yakov and Lilia, they just don’t know the Kazakh guys. They wouldn’t have a problem if they did. He’s sure of it, even when he doesn’t know every detail of their lives himself. 

Even when he doesn’t even know what was making Otabek so silent a minute ago. What was keeping him down. What were the questions he couldn’t answer. 

Yuri could use that drink now. 

“What was all that?” Mila smirks at him, trying to hide the obvious concern on her face. Yuri knows her better than to be fooled by that: he just leans on the bar and lets out a long sigh. Déjà vu, huh? “Since when do you not answer to Viktor?” She hands him one of the twin drinks the bartender just prepared and murmurs, “Were you making out with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” 

He takes along sip of his drink. This time it feels less watered down than before. “He’s just a friend, baba.” he grunts under his breath. “Not fucking Voldemort.”

She laughs as if they were talking about some puppy that tripped on their own feet. No, this is way too big for her to get it. She’s the only one who has actually talked to  _ them _ , and she’s not taking this seriously. Yuri feels a chill running up his spine, as if everything that was shielding him from the cold sharp pain the world kept on bringing his way has vanished at once, leaving him a startled little child under the mercy of the rough winter. 

There’s no one for him, then. Either he lets the person he feels like he’s known forever go, or he loses everyone else around him. It sounds like a cheesy fucking soap opera, doesn’t it? It’s ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. How could this even happen?

What’s wrong with him?

“Don’t you feel like going to the restroom after finishing that drink?” He looks up, startled at her words. What the fuck does that mean? And out of nowhere? “You know, it is a pretty long drink. And not your first one.” She accentuates, still looking straight ahead to the mirror behind the spirits. “You must be in quite a hurry. So finish it up.” She clinks her fingernails against Yuri’s glass, and he obliges. “And go.” She looks at him while tapping the wooden surface of the bar, almost point at something behind him. Yuri turns to see De La Iglesia standing at the side of the doorway, tapping something on his phone. 

He has no business with that guy, he barely knows him, but he’s not one to let go of an opportunity to get off this already awkward enough banquet like this. He gets up and tries to get past him, muttering a simple response to Yakov when he asked where he was going. He get stopped halfway into the hallway by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Not there.” Yuri turns, a scowl on his face, to look at De La Iglesia smiling wide and fondly at him, yet talking in a barely audible tone. “Take the stairs to the parking lot on the second basement.” He looks back at the party and goes on. “He’s waiting for you there.”

Yuri is completely stunned at this point. Who the hell is this guy? Who the fuck is waiting for him? Why did  _ he _ know? His mind only goes to Otabek, of course, but why would they know each other? And trust each other enough to pull off a stunt like this? 

Maybe Viktor is right. Maybe there’s just so much he doesn’t know.  But he’s not chickening out. If he needs to know, then he’ll go out there and ask. Like a friend does. Because, fuck it, he won’t let any of them to convince him they shouldn’t be together. 

If there are things he needs to find out about Otabek, then he fucking will. 

He runs to the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri hears the revving of the bike from the entrance of the parking lot: he sees him immediately, leaning on his motorcycle, the only figure on the dark empty space. He doesn’t even notice he’s running towards him until he clashes against his chest, hugging him as if his life depended on it. Otabek has moved a few steps towards him in his race to catch him without flipping the bike over, and just holds onto him silently. 

It takes Yuri a few seconds of his friend’s musky scent mixed with the smell of leather and cologne to realize how close they are, how tightly he’s holding Otabek, as if he would vanish the second Yuri let him go. He pushes himself away, breathing deep. Stares at him. The anger in his eyes dies down, even though it’s still burning at his insides, at the sight of him; his body relaxes, his mind drifts off Viktor, and Yakov and this stupid fucking charade. 

He wishes he could put it all away permanently just as easy as he can sweep it under the rug at the sight of Otabek. He knows better. 

Otabek isn't wearing the dark blue tie he had at the Gala. He’s changed his suit jacket for the well worn leather one he always wears. He’s offering a helmet to Yuri, smiling shyly, silent. The way Yuri knows he always does. It’s too much of a familiar situation to remember the concern of the people around Yuri. He puts it all away as if it was just a bad dream. Almost all.

“You scare the shit out of Viktor, you know.”

Otabek chuckles, lowering his gaze. “Yeah…” He bites his lip. Yuri waits for him to say something. He doesn’t  know why but he needs an explanation from him. Anything. A simple “Viktor is wrong” would be fine, even when it wouldn’t explain anything. He needs somewhere to hold onto, now that his world seems to have turned against him. “I know.” 

_ Well, that doesn’t say much. _ He can’t shake the feeling that there’s something really important that everyone is hiding from him. Something Otabek knows. “What were those questions Viktor could ask, anyways? He barely knows your  _ name. _ ” 

Otabek smiles that same way while getting on the bike. Smiles  _ sadly _ , is that even possible? He tries to shake it off as he turns to Yuri, offering his hand. “Let’s go for a ride?” 

Something tightens in Yuri’s chest. For Otabek not to be direct, it has to be something really big.

Something that concerns him. 

Something that concerns Viktor too, somehow.

He tries to hide his sudden shallow breathing. He jumps in. 

He feel himself trembling the whole trip. He hopes Otabek doesn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

 

The sky is a clear dark blue spotted here and there by some lone pecks of light: there’s no moon tonight. The sea seems to melt on the horizon, both shades of blue turning one, only interrupted by the occasional soft breeze caressing the waters, breaking the illusion of a perfect fit. Like a puzzle. 

But life does not consist of puzzle pieces, and parts one needs to find to complete oneself. Life is not a peaceful sea shore on a moonless night, reaching out to the skies. 

In real life, balance breaks. Softly and steadily sometimes, so quiet one can only notice after a part of themselves is gone. Sometimes with a bang, a clash of teeth and claws, a whole part of them bleeding the loss. 

Yuri feels like the calm is gonna break at any minute; he feels the tension of the storm about to come.

He buries it deep. 

They’ve been sitting on the grass in a not so comfortable silence for a full ten minutes now, Yuri fidgeting afraid to look at Otabek’s eyes. He doesn’t know what he can find in them the next time. It terrifies him. 

“Are you scared of me, Yura?” Yuri doesn’t need to look into his eyes after all; he can hear the hurt (the disappointment, maybe?) he’s trying to mask behind a smile that’s not there to hide anything. Otabek’s not a liar. His own voice betrays him. 

Yuri almost jumps to his side, but decides against it: instead, he pulls his knees up and scowls, hugging them close. “No! Of course not.” He turns to Otabek, almost offended. Seemingly offended. Both know it’s an act. “Why would I? You’re my best friend.”

Otabek stares at him, his brown eyes almost melting the fire within Yuri that’s still consuming him. He smiles “Yeah.” He looks up, letting out a long sigh, taking his time to reply again. “What if…” He hesitates. Why the hell would he hesitate? Since when is he scared of telling him anything? He bites his lips and frowns, looking away; Yuri can see the need to escape in the way his eyes fall immediately on the bike. Still, Otabek doesn’t leave. But doesn’t look at him again, either. “What if I told you there’s a lot you don’t know?”

Yuri looks back at the water. Still quiet, yet he swears he feels a thunder about to fall. He leans back onto the grass, hands behind his head to hide the tightness on his knuckles, his fingers grasping hard on his hair. He pulls up his mask again. If his friend needed comfort, that’s what he’s giving him. No matter how much it hurts. “But I know you.  _ You _ . Maybe not the details, but who you are.” He turns to glance at him, disturbed at the sight that is Otabek: lost in thought looking straight up, his lips almost quivering under his teeth.  __ There’s something he definitely does not know. Something that’s eating Otabek from the inside out. But how can he even ask? He grins instead. “You  _ can’t _ scare me.” the uneasy feeling soothes down for a second when Otabek laughs, small, but still. “Viktor’s a pussy. I could kick your ass if I wanted to.”

“His concern comes from a good place, you know.” Otabek lays besides him, and Yuri can almost feel the guy’s breath on his face they’re so close. He tries not to think about it, about the fluttery feeling on his gut, about the sudden need to take Otabek’s hand in his. “Think about it: some big bad guys come up to your kid-”

“Not you too, Beka.” Yuri groans, and Otabek laughs, this time for real. Finally. The tightness of Yuri’s chest loosens at the sound. It’s like a medicine to him, always bringing a sense of easiness, of calmness to him. A smile to his face. 

“Wait, hold on, let me finish the idea.” Yuri rolls over to hide his face in his hands. “Come on, Yura, I have a point, I promise.” Yuri barely uncovers his face just out of curiosity, to make his friend keep on talking. “So, these people come in, they don’t even look at you and hand a piece of paper to the seventeen year-old you feel responsible for.“ Yuri is about to barge in: Otabek sees it. “No, he does, okay? Let me keep going. They invite him to a place his very seventeen year-old self shouldn’t be stepping in, to drink and dance and post pictures about it later.” He scoffs, still smiling. “I told Aika it was a bad idea, but she’s not one to reject an opportunity to take a picture of herself. You two would get along quite well, I think.” He laughs when Yuri’s fist collides with his shoulder. 

“Then why didn’t  _ you  _ invite me?” Yuri plays the offended and Otabek rolls his eyes. “I mean it: you wouldn’t have scared them.”

“I know.” Otabek’s voice goes lower; his gaze does, too. “I  _ was _ busy. But I also wanted to introduce them to you. They’re important to me.”  _ And you are, too, _ Yuri finishes on his own. He wishes he’d have heard it, anyways. 

“Then why didn’t I know about them sooner?” Yuri’s playful jealous tone turns honestly curious.

Otabek fidgets. Hesitates. “Well, you saw what happened.” Laughs. Nervously. What is so hard for him? “Look Yura, there’s a lot you need to know, I just…”

A lot he needs to know- Does that mean Otabek has been lying to him all this time? “What, didn’t wanna scare me?” Otabek smiles and the shadow comes back to blur his gaze. He’s being honest. But what could possibly be there that’s so wrong he decided to hide it? “Well, I’m here now, so….”

“It’s getting late.” Otabek gets up, offering his hand to Yuri before he can even react. “I have to go back, they’re....” He falls silent. Yuri takes his hand and just stares at him until Otabek snaps out of him. “My sisters, they’re waiting for me.”

Yuri realizes that’s about as much as he’ll get out of Otabek. At least for tonight. They get on the bike to drive back to the hotel.

The wind rises around them. Yuri takes the chance to hold Otabek tight. He feels his friend’s hand caressing his thigh from time to time. 

Maybe this could be enough, too.

 

* * *

 

 

He can sense him in his room. After so many years, Yuri can guess the ways in which Viktor would try to scold him. He can feel the older man’s presence from the lobby. He takes a deep breath before opening the door with a scowl on his face, without even looking at the man standing against the dresser. 

He sits on his bed and hides the slight tremor in his hands: Viktor can’t notice. Yuri won’t give him the advantage.

“We’ve been looking for you.” Viktor’s voice is soft and soothing and his smile is still there: that cardboard smile he puts up for the press, the one that hides the fire within him. The smile that shakes Yuri to the core. He doesn’t lift his gaze, he doesn’t dare to. “Where have you been?

“Out.” Short answers. Yuri decides that’s gonna be his weapon. Viktor can’t notice the stuttering, the doubt in short answers.

“With your phone off?”

Damn it, it must have run out of battery somewhere along the night. Yuri didn’t even check, he 

was too distracted by the vision that was Otabek under the starlit night, so close he felt like he was breathing through him, an air charged with the scent of sea and leather and the faint trace of beer on Otabek’s lips. “Yeah?”

“Yuri...” Viktor runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down; Yuri can practically hear his teeth clenching from the other side of the room. “Yuri, I know Otabek is nice to you and handsome and all…”

Yuri wants to fight back, he does. He knows there’s no good answer he could think off. That Viktor most absolutely  _ doesn’t _ know how Otabek can be? That he doesn’t get the way Otabek makes a breeze out of every storm? That he can hold him and Yuri wouldn’t care if the world falls apart around them? That there’s no way, absolutely  _ no way _ Viktor has a remote clue of who Otabek Altin really is?  Fuck, he still gets surprised when the guy laughs! And Yuri knows he does laugh a lot around him, and keep making jokes for him, getting close enough for Yuri to feel his presence around at all times, to be able to touch him, to caress him every chance he can. 

Yuri lets his hand fall in the exact same place where Otabek’s was before, drawing on his skin while he drove. He can almost feel the warmth of his hand, imprinted on him like a brand, calling him back. He tries to shake the thought away before Viktor notices. “You haven't said one word to him.” His tone sounds more venomous than he intended, trying to hide his own feelings about this witch hunt they’re pulling on him. “What could you possibly know?”

“Well, he’s not so easy to talk to, you see.” Viktor lets out a trace of a smirk in his voice (Is that even a thing?) and Yuri crunches his nose in disgust. Automatically. He hopes Viktor hasn’t seen that. “But I did speak to his coach.”

“You know nothing about him.” And Yuri does? There was so much unsaid tonight, so much more hidden. Does he? 

“And you do?” Viktor chuckles. The bastard chuckles and Yuri feels fire running through his veins, pulling out the indifferent mask he tried so hard to keep up. He can’t do this, he’s not a liar: he’s a fighter and a friend, and he won’t let Otabek be insulted. Not even for him. It takes more than fear to hold him back.

“Yeah I do!” He snaps back. Rising up from the bed, hissing, fists trembling and ready to fight. “You have no idea who the fuck he is, you never cared enough!” He points at Viktor, trying to be menacing: he knows he sounds pitiful, whiny. Like a little child, forgotten after school. He tries to shake the thought away. “You’re too busy with your own husband and your own shit, you don’t give a fuck. You never have!”

Viktor just shakes his head, walking towards the door. He speaks before he opens it, without even looking at the rageful child gathering all his strength not to break down. “I’m sure you do.” He sighs, opening the door, “I’m sure he must have told you everything then.” He looks back, a soft, merciful smile on his lips. “Even the nights he spent in jail. And why he changed coaches so often.” 

He’s out the door before Yuri can react.

Yuri doesn’t know how to react. Something sinks inside of him; air fails to reach his lungs. He falls to his knees as if his body is suddenly too weak to endure his own weight, the whole of it: muscles and bones and this burden on his shoulders, the words. The words were what hurt the most. But not the ones spoken. The things Otabek tried so hard not to tell him. 

There’s a whole life he didn’t know. A whole person he didn’t know. A whole person Yuri considered his best friend. 

But who the fuck is he? Is anything Yuri thinks he knows actually true?

Who the fuck is Otabek Altin, after all?

It takes more than fear to hold Yuri back. It takes betrayal. It takes cowardice. It takes mockery.

And Otabek was laughing at his face this whole time, pretending to be someone he’s not. 

Yuri doesn’t mind the shudder in his body, arms hugging his middle so tightly his fingernails are leaving marks on his skin; he doesn’t care about the ticklish sensation of the rug against his forehead, the dampness of the tears trailing his cheeks. 

There’s just one thing on his mind.

Has he ever even known who his best friend was, after all?

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Yuri refuses to get up. He’s been rolling on his bed the whole night, trying to shake the feeling that the one person he felt like he could tell anything to wasn’t even who he thought he was. His eyes must be bloodshot and swollen, and he needs to catch a plane today. 

He decides he’s better off just staying in bed until his coaches come looking for him. He’s not in the mood to see Otabek again, much less surrounded by a thousand curious stares. He’ll have to face it, all of it, at some point, but not right now. It’s too fresh right now. 

Still, he hears the door opens and curses between his teeth, burying his face on his pillow. Maybe they’ll leave if he doesn’t answer for long enough. 

“Yurochka.” He doesn’t need to turn around to know whose voice that is. He feels a hand on his shoulder. He tries to shrug it off. He can’t but Yakov immediately releases him, lowering his voice as if a sudden loud sound could startle him. Yuri is not that fucking fragile, he’s not made of glass. Why do they keep treating him like this, as if he’s about to break? He can take it. Whatever Viktor doesn’t say, whatever Otabek doesn’t say, he can take it. It’sthe hiding that hurts, the fake smile. He could have never taken Otabek for a liar: now he doesn’t know which one is the real him. If the Otabek that took him to the Canadian shore was the authentic, the one who showed his concern, even without talking it out. If that was just another persona put up for Yuri not to feel threatened. 

The Russian Punk, fucking threatened. Who the hell does he think he is to think he can’t fucking scare him? It couldn’t have been more painful than this. It couldn't have been more painful than two years of deceit. It shouldn’t have been. It shouldn’t have happened.

What kind of idiot doesn’t notice a two year long lie?

“Yurochka, what is going on between Viktor and you?” Yuri shuffles on the bed, and sighs deeply on his pillow.

He wants to avoid the question. He can sense the old man’s gaze on the back of his neck. He wish he could just shut up until he leaves. If it was only that easy. “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you.” The bitterness in his words would sound like common cynicism to most people. 

Yakov knows Yuri’s hurt. “What does he need to tell me? What has he told you?”

Yuri sits up, cross legged and cradling the pillow against his chest as if it could stop the aching. He knows he looks like hell when Yakov’s perpetually scolding gaze softens, when his hand pats his head. “What he  _ hasn’t  _ told me is the problem.” Yuri scoffs on his pillow, trying to ignore the stinging of tears threatening to come out. “What no one has told me.”

Yakov presses his lips, frowns, and yet he tries to be as delicate as possible on his answer. “Yuri, I’m missing something here. What is-?”

“I thought you were with him on this. That you all knew.” Yuri snarls back. Yakov may have nothing to do with this, he’s certainly not one to keep things from him. Not this. He’d have taken Otabek away from him the second he’d have found out. He wouldn’t have even let him go “to the bathroom” alone at the Gala. He knows how thorough Yakov can be, how firm. He should have known. He lifts his legs up to hide his face, still holding his pillow tight against his chest. “I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

“Viktor?”

“Beka!” He can’t hold back the tears, he refuses to look up even as he feels Yakov’s hand on his knee. “He’s been lying to me, the fucker. And I  _ let him. _ ” 

The hand squeezes him. “You’re not to blame, Yurochka. You couldn’t have known.” Yuri keeps on mumbling it like a mantra.  _ Yes, I should have. I gave him every second I had, every thought. I should have known, I should have noticed. _ But Yakov doesn’t scold him, doesn’t shut him up. He probably can’t hear him either, he probably just sees the slight motion of Yuri’s body, back and forth, as if he was trying to calm himself down. It only makes him sobs more, to a point where he can’t form a coherent phrase anymore, to the point Yakov actually hears. “What did he do?”

Silence. 

“What did he do, Yurochka?”

A hand on the boy’s back, feeling his heaving breath, the violent shaking of his shoulders.

“Did he touch-”

“No!” Yuri’s head shoots up immediately, in a gesture of horror. Otabek would  _ never _ . 

Would he?

“No, he... He…” It takes him a while to calm himself  enough to finish the sentence. “He’s… a criminal, I guess? I…” his mind goes suddenly blank. “I don’t know, he’s just…. Not  _ him  _ anymore.”

The hand on his back crawls up to his shoulder to push him against Yakov’s side; Yuri just gives in and lean his head on the old man’s shoulder. “Not everyone is how we picture them, Yuri.”

Yuri scoffs. “He’s said it, too.” He releases himself from the grip to look at Yakov, his fire burning again in his eyes, his anger poisoning his words. He’s stronger than this. Eyes of a soldier, Otabek has said. He won’t be left for dead on the battlefield. “He said it was intentional, he didn’t want me to know. He lied to me, Yakov!”

He stops the moment he notices he’s standing now, clutching Yakov’s jacket with both hands, hissing at him, as if he was… He releases him and sits back down, face hidden on his knees. Yakov isn’t the one to blame, he didn’t know, he… Yuri didn’t neither, did he? But he should have. Two fucking years of make believe. He fucking should have. 

“You understand, Yuri,” The old man stands in front of him, hands on the boy’s shoulders, “that I cannot let you see this man again.” 

He waits for a response. It takes a while. 

“I don’t give a shit.”

Yakov sighs. Of course he does care, who is he trying to kid? He’s shattered, he’s drifting, shipwrecked and with nothing to hold onto but debris, only ruins of what he once was. The much easier going guy he learnt to be besides Otabek. 

It was all bullshit, anyways. Who cares? He’ll learn not to. Even if it kills him. Even if it already feels like it does. He’ll put up a fight. 

He can feel the weight on his shoulders lifting off, the steps on the carpeted floor. The door handle creaking. 

“I’ll send your breakfast to your room. Stay here today: I’ll come for you when we’re ready to leave.”

He just nods at the air and waits for the door to clicks shut again. 

He crawls back into the bed. 

He’ll put up a fight. But right now? Right now he needs his own strength to breathe. To kick the numbness on his fingers, the knot off his throat. 

He hides himself under the blankets and begs for it to be a bad dream. To be a fever that clutches his chest, that makes him feel lightheaded, out of himself, like floating somewhere far off from all of this. Somewhere calmer. Somewhere safer. 

He holds himself close to put up the little pieces of himself back together, but life is not a puzzle, isn’t it? Pieces just doesn’t fit under the break: they crash, they shatter, they fade in porcelain dust and tears. And there is one big piece of him that’s not there anymore. He buries his face onto his pillow for the people on the neighbouring rooms to not hear the bawling. 

He wonders if he’ll ever wake up from his nightmare. If he’ll ever recover.

 

* * *

 

 

There's someone at his door.

Yuri knows it can't be room service because they tried to get him to open the door and left after little insistence. This knocking is not like theirs. It's loud, firm, rushed. Desperate. 

It could be Viktor. It could be Mila. Yakov has his key; he’d just waltz in. It has to be someone else. It could only be…

He gets up from the bed, unaware (uninterested, really) of his bedhead, his puffy eyes, the tear streaks on his cheeks, the exhaustion on his shoulders. He slams the door open. It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the hallway, to recognize the figure standing in front of him, all dressed in black but for a familiar white, yellow and blue jacket. He's still in a daze, too numb to notice how Otabek’s stance changes the moment he lays eyes on Yuri. How his shoulders slump down, his hands hide in his pockets. How he painfully tries to keep up with Yuri’s stare but still avert his eyes. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Yuri's voice sounds rough and a bit too loud on his own ears, scratching as his throat as if the words refuse to come out. He doesn't use that kind of language with Otabek, he's never felt the need to. 

Otabek finches visibly at the venom of his words, almost trying to shrink into his bones, trying to get away. “Yakov came for me. Told me to stay away from you.”

Yuri clicks his tongue. Rolls his eyes. Repeats his mantra in his head:  _ do not break, don't let him see you break. _ “Well, haven't you gotten the fucking memo yet?”

“I wanted to hear it from you.” Otabek speaks way too rushed and way too soft for his usual self. Yuri can almost guess a hint of panic, of pain in his voice. But he has been a poor judge of character before; he dismisses it all. “I wanna hear you say you don't want to see me anymore.” 

Yuri can't stand the hurting look on the man’s eyes, furrowed brows and lips pressed thin, as if he's trying to hold a blank gesture that's one step from falling apart. He looks away, hand gripping the door tight. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are anymore.” he chuckles; he can hear Viktor in his own tone. “No, you know what? I'm not sure if I ever have.”

He threatens to close the door but Otabek's hand holds it open. “Yura, I don't know what they've told you-”

“It doesn't matter what they've said!” Yuri stops to cover his mouth with his hands to hide the trembling of his lips. Tears fall nonetheless. It's pointless to hide after all. The hands on his mouth rapidly turn to fists at his sides as he get closer to Otabek to find the smallest speck of emotion on his gaze. “I don't give a shit about what you did or didn't do. I care that you have purposely, systematically hidden it from me. All of it. All of you, damn it!” his fist meets the wall next to him. “You've hidden  _ yourself _ from me! And I thought you're my best friend!”

 

Otabek reaches out to hold him but Yuri flinches as if his touch would burn him, brand him. He’s had enough of those, he can’t endure another caress he won’t be able to erase from his skin. “I’m still me, Yuri, it’s-” Otabek can’t finish the sentence before he gets shoved against the hallway wall.

“How can I know??!” Yuri is aware if the high pitched whimper that is his voice, but he can’t stop it now. “How can I know what was the truth and what wasn’t?” He shuts the distance between them, fist high and ready. It crashes against the wall next to Otabek’s head. He winces, but doesn’t move, hands secured inside his jacket pockets. “Why haven’t you just  _ told me _ ?”

Otabek bites his lip and looks down, trying to avert his gaze. He can’t do it for long: he feels a hand on his chin janking his face up to meet a wrathful deep green stare. Not any amount of tears could put up such a raging fire. “I worked hard to reach out to you.” He practically spits out the words, as if they were eating him up from the inside out, as if a part of him was leaving with them. “I don’t want your fucking pity.” 

He earns a slap across his face for that one. He doesn’t even puts his hands up. Just stays there, still against the cold wall, and a red mark starting to form at the side of his face. He unclenches his jaw to soothe the stinging, but says nothing.

It exasperates Yuri. People don’t do that. People get mad, and yell, and fight back, they don’t just stand there and take what’s coming. “What’s your fucking problem?!” Otabek doesn’t lift his gaze and for once, Yuri doesn’t want to know what’s he’s hiding behind his eyes. “So you get to see me all teary and pathetic and shit but God fucking forbids you step out of you knight in shining armor thing? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He paces out and comes back, unsure of what to do with his own body. He feels uncomfortable in it, chest clenching and voice breaking and this urge to fuck up something. His own knuckles if he needs to. Otabek, if he allows. And he does. Why does he? “You have all of this fucking loving family, a ton of friends around you, a good numbers of fucking medals and you don’t want any pity? You think I pity you? I envy you, you fuck!” Yuri pauses to catch his own breath, brushing his eyes violently as if it would stop the stinging. “I fucking admire you! you’re, like, made of steel, and I…” Sobs. Fuck, not again. “I have to scream this shit at the whole fucking hallway just to make you look at me!” 

He tries to make Otabek look up again but is suddenly shoved against the opposing wall, his whole back aching at the contact. Otabek’s hands release the death grip on Yuri’s shoulders to a gentler touch, barely holding him in place. His dark stare is void somehow, numb, but desperate. His breath jagged, his words hesitant. It takes him a while to form a sentence after a painful sigh. 

“Fine.” His voice is firm, demanding, but gets softer in a second. “You don’t know me. You win.” The sad smile appears again, and Yuri has to think of the chance of it being Otabek’s way to fight back tears. It doesn’t look like it’s working so well. “You don’t know shit about me if that’s how you feel. I’m nothing like that.” his hands hesitate on Yuri’s shoulders, yet he finally takes a step back, refusing to lift his head up. “I wish I was.” when their glances finally meet, Yuri can see a clear bright streak on his cheeks, already reddened by the blow, his lips bitten red and quivering to stop emotions for flooding out. “Wish I could.” The smile disappears to stiffen a whimper as Otabek looks away. 

Yuri can’t stand it, he can’t see. He wanted him to suffer the way he has, but not like this. Not in front of him. It pains him too much. He wanted to be right, to have proof the guy he thought was his friend was nothing but a liar, a manipulative sick bastard. Not this. He wanted him black or white. Not human. “One thing.” His voice sounds like a plea because it is, hiding under the scowl. “Just give me one thing.”

Silence. Otabek still refuses to look him in the eye.

It’s the tone that really breaks him, the way Otabek covers his face to speak, the way Yuri knows his resolution just shattered, his steel templed persona is falling in pieces. Every shard of hard cold metal sliding through his fingers, washed away by every tear. “I can’t.”

“Don’t do this, Beka.” Yuri’s hissing through his teeth, holding his arms tight to suppress the need to run to his. 

“It’s so much, I just-”

Yuri shakes his head, furious. Hurt. Disappointed. That was Otabek’s cue, his chance, and he decided against it. That’s all Yuri could give him. He goes back to the open door of his room, and lets his rage show the best way he can manage.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

He slams the door shut. Leans on it. Lets himself fall until he touches the floor. There’s a loud blow on the hallway, and steps leading away. Faster every time. He can almost see Otabek clenching his teeth and rubbing his tears away until his eyes go red and stingy, running up the stairs so no one can see him cry. 

He can see it because he’d do the same. 

He can see it and his rage washes away in a second. He made one of the most important persons in his life cry. For him. Just for him to share a bit of all the pain and confusion running through him. The solitude. The absence. Yuri’s sure something dies inside of him the day Viktor walked out of his room, something that’s rotting, polluting him. 

He doesn’t bother repress the sobs. He doesn’t care about the neighbours. Let them hear him cry. 

 

He’ll wake up a couple of hours later, with Yakov banging on his door because he can’t open it, for some reasons. He’ll wake up in aching bones and aching heart, looking for his phone in the dresser as a reflex. He’ll read the one new message he’ll have while Yakov asks Mila to help him with the luggage. He’ll dismiss the compassion in Mila’s eyes, focusing on the bright screen. 

He’ll call her name, his fingers hovering on the  _ block number _ option.

_ < I’ll miss you, Yura. _

She’ll turn around, waiting for him. 

He’ll tap on his phone.

He’ll run to her arms.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek knows since the moment Yuri’s started with the innocent teasing about Viktor that something was bound to go terribly wrong. It’s like a tingling in his fingertips, like the sudden tension of a storm about to break out, bristling the hairs on the back of his neck. He still measures every word, every answer, as he knows he’s not going to while in Yuri’s presence. He is too much of a powerful force to be denied, has a sort of magnetism, taunting at you to get close, to speak up, to let go. 

But Otabek couldn’t let go. He can’t. He shouldn’t. He knows it’s what friends do, to carry each other’s burdens, but this is all on him. Every poorly made choice, every bruised knuckle, every feeling. He’s finally made it. He’s good enough.  _ Worthy. _

He’s had picked the words carefully for when they reached the top of Park Guell; he’s practiced them in front of a mirror more times that he cares to admit. Even though he’ll never admit one of them. Or that all his plans and his speech and his piece of mind went out the window by the time Yuri held his gaze openly for the first time. He’s a force of nature and those deep green eyes are his weapon. He felt the words stumbling out of his mouth and had no chance to stop, to take them back. They’d first met years ago, yes. Of course Yuri doesn’t remember, why would he? Yes, he’s been an inspiration. His willpower, the one person to get close to, the one goal to claim. 

Otabek has been bruised and cut and bled, in and out, more times than he can remember. Some scars hidden under some new ones. Still, he forgets how pain feels like the second he lets himself get lost into Yuri’s stare. 

He’s lucky, alright. He’s done it. He’s happy. 

He found the one inspiration that has always pushed him harder and further in life; that keeps doing just that. Yet closer. Yuri’s finally a text away, no more than that. And Otabek still can’t hold down the grin on his face every time he reads one.

Aika would laugh, of course she would. Childhood sweetheart, she’d call Yuri, in the better days. Your little kitten, if she’s feeling risky. And then she’d have to duck to dodge some pillow thrown at her face. Yet she’d laugh, of course she’d laugh. She’d repeat over and over that Barcelona must truly be magical: her little brother hasn’t smiled so much in a good while. 

Otabek would answer it is. Definitely. If magic exists, it must reside behind Yuri’s lashes. 

It’s further proven with every silly selfie the blond sends his way. At the beat Otabek’s heart misses every time he sees them again. There are beautiful people in the world, and then there’s  _ him. _

Yuri’s not beautiful, not only. His strength and passion, and a special way of loving.a love that burns more than the bruises do, for longer, in a completely different way. It doesn’t really heal, it doesn’t really hide; it’s all there, Otabek knows every single battle he’ll drag with him till his last breath. But they feel different. They have a point, every single drop of blood took him where he’s standing now. Besides him. 

Where he was. 

It was all kind of a joke, really. Well, more of a dare. Aika loves Otabek to pieces, but that doesn’t mean she’ll refuse an opportunity to tease him. Or to put him on the spot. Or to give Nuro the chance to, knowing very well he can never  _ ever _ for the life of him let anyone live something like this down. “That is the boy you like?” and Otabek knew he was in trouble. “Why don’t you take him dancing?” His hands started to sweat; he’s been on podiums more than once already but he swears he never felt his heart pounding so loud in his ears.”Better yet, why don’t  _ we? _ ”

Yuri must have magic in his eyes because Otabek is positive his heart stopped right there. Until his phone buzzed. And he looks at them again, staring right at him. Bored, seemingly; Otabek knows how to read between the lines by now. Hair splayed on the unmade bed, some of it still tangled on his hand. 

Yuri must have magic in his eyes because somehow the room temperature must have risen a few degrees up the second he noticed the half lidded gaze, the parted lips, the crook of his neck, bare and ready to be taken… Otabek chokes on his own breath at the anything but chaste images  flashing through his mind. And Nuro giggling. Because of course he would. And Aika swooning as if Otabek would have just done the cutest thing in existence, and isn’t lusting unashamedly (in his defense, he’s very much ashamed) for his best friend. He’ll have to invite Yuri if he wants them to shut up. And because he does very much want to dance with Yuri, with or without inconvenient dares. And because it sounds like a nice dream, to see so many of their loved ones together, sharing, bonding. Like pieces of his life he was sure would self-destruct if he brought them together, just fitting perfectly into each other. They already liked Yuri, of course; they constantly asked for every detail of their conversation and would comment on how tall he got, how much he's grown, how long his hair has gotten, how much he didn't look like a kid anymore.  _ Did you notice, Beks? _ And he’d have blushed harder if it wasn’t for the twitch in his pants he tries to hide by closing his legs tight. Has he noticed? Who wouldn’t? 

Yuri’s not beautiful, not only. He’s mesmerizing, addictive. Otabek couldn’t get enough. 

Not when he knew that asking his friends to invite him over to the club would be a problem. Not when he saw there juggling with drinks on the booth steps. Not when he notices the bright sweet scented gloss on his lips. Not when he found a reason to touch them (he tried to stop himself, he really did. But every fight against Yuri’s lures was a lost battle before it started). Not when he’s had Yuri for himself, against him all night long, swaying his hips against Otabek’s crotch, leaning on him enough to make him feel Yuri’s heartbeat against his chest. 

Not when Yuri walks to Otabek solely to take a taste at his lips like a cat would. He hasn’t talked to Yuri about it yet; he can’t be sure he remembers. He’s not even sure he wants to bring it up. Perhaps it was just a sudden whim. A drunk antic. Another dare, maybe. 

Now, sitting on the hotel terrace by himself, he tries to fit in the possibility that Yuri might have wanted to kiss him. It still sounds odd to his ears, but he could have, maybe. Just not anymore, not now, not after all of… This. 

Otabek tried to explain himself at the seashore. letting the calm waters try to wash off his own maelstrom of emotions and scars he’s not willing to re open. Yuri asked. More than once. And his eyes perform magic, but even then, he could feels the accusatory glances still drilling into the back of his neck. If he tells Yuri, they’ll know. If he kiss Yuri, they’ll know. 

If he talks, his card castle will fall down, leaving him with nothing but ruins. Sure, Yuri could just decide to stay by his side. He could also not.

Otabek can’t bare the thought of starting this charade all over again. Every time, it hurts more than the last. He can’t let it break. 

He has to shut up. 

 

No matter how much Yuri had cried in front of him, how much he’d screamed and cursed his name, how painful it was (and it felt like a dagger crawling deeper and twisting at every word), how much it would last in his memory, in his skin. 

Otabek couldn’t allow himself to sink him deep down to his level. He couldn’t see Yuri in pain like he was. Because of him. 

He took his cellphone out of the jacket’s pocket. 

_ > I screwed up. _

He knew he wouldn’t get an answer: Aika was not so stupid to read a text from him in front of everyone. He knew she would have come running if she could. Somehow that made him feel a little less lonely.

Just not less torn and jagged and broken. blue patch and sharper word. He couldn’t give Yuri that, he couldn’t bear the idea of him suffering it all. This was his bullet to swallow and not anyone else’s. He wouldn’t allow it. 

Not even when Yuri asked, on a balcony of a certain Gala, why he was so notoriously trying to avoid Viktor. He didn’t have the heart to tell him the hall was the only place he could think of to get away from  _ family dinner _ . 

The word family, even when was not said out loud, turned sour in his mouth. A taste of an old childhood memory turning stale. He wanted to, he yearned for it, but he didn’t dare say a thing. Yuri couldn’t cope with it, with what he felt obligated to. Otabek has been putting up with the charade for years; the day the façade finally yields, his reality will flood with all of that he tried to put away. A dam strong enough now, but cracking at the edges already. And the day it gives in for good, there will be a flood, a washing over of filth and fears and old scars. And everything in between.

What will happen then? What if the cotillion excuse of a reality is all he has, all he can have? 

But Yuri is real: he’s fire and rage and strength. He’s all Otabek can’t even imagine to be. A unstoppable projectile tearing up whatever standing in between his goals and him. A tough daring punk when he needs to, a sweet grandson when he can. Wise enough to pick up his own battles, to choose who fights them by his side. 

Otabek’s just lucky he got picked, really. After years of trying to reach out to Yuri he finally catches up, and just the thought of skating on the same ice feels his body with this new, fuzzy warm 

He has to make a choice that it’s not really his own to make. He’d always choose Yuri above all, but this is different. This is digging out all the things he needs buried. This is bringing out the rotten parts of him to the light of day, presenting them to him. 

He wishes he was strong enough, fierce enough. He wishes he had that fire. He wishes he was half of the fighter Yuri is. 

Then he’d probably not stumble against his own feet so much. He wouldn’t doubt his own actions so much. He wouldn’t have put the blade against both their hearts willingly. Having to choose which one to cut open. Knowing that he’ll bleed out in any case.

 

> _ I’ll miss you, Yura. _

 

He wishes he had someone’s shoulder to cry on, instead of the chilly breeze of Vancouver and the sound of his own voice breaking into pathetic little whimpers. 

 

> _ I love you. _

_ < The recipient you're sending to has chosen not to receive messages. _

 

How he could use a drink right now. Or just a fucking smoke. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Yuri keeps looking for him for a while, but eventually the impulse dies. As everything does. He feels numbed, as in auto-pilot: he doesn’t shout as much anymore. He doesn’t even say anything when Viktor and his Katsudon kiss and fondle each other on the rink, he doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about Mila’s concerned stares, about Yakov trying to give him new combinations and step sequences to learn, to wake him up. But even when he’s acing his jumps, his moves seem robotic: something is still asleep inside of him. Dead even, maybe.

It still hurts when his grandfather asks for Otabek. Yuri tells him he’s busy; they’re not talking right now, with the World’s coming up and all. Something must still be alive and stirring underneath the debris because it still hurts to lie to his grandfather. It still hurts to realize he _needs_ to lie. It hurts too much to dare to find out why he lies, why can’t he just say it. He was an idiot: he brought a stranger to the house. He bought every little story.

Or he might be hopeful still. He might miss him and the stupidly serious way of texting, always capitalizing and punctuating correctly. The flutter on his stomach every time he felt his voice almost purring a sweet _Yura_. His skin bristling at every minimal touch. The utter panic he felt the first time he noticed he could drown on that chocolate brown stare of him, and the warm realization that it wouldn’t really be that bad.

No, he wouldn’t go back. The lie is only temporary: grandfather will know, in due time. Otabek’s name will not be mentioned on his house again. He can’t bare to hear it without hissing inwardly, clenching his teeth. Rage hasn’t died down yet.

He convinces himself it is rage what he feels.

 

Dinner parties at Viktor’s apartment become more frequent, if they weren’t already. They quickly become louder and more crowded; pretty much every skater on the rink gets invited at least once, but then again, there are steady guests, and Yuri is one of them. He can’t deny them the satisfaction, otherwise they’ll be on his ass forever and he just needs quiet. Even Yakov would force him to go. He’s even shown up once or twice just to make sure Yuri would sit properly on the table, and eat.

Viktor told him he hasn’t been eating much. Lilia confirms it. Yuri tries hard to content them but his stomach growls at him every time he forces himself to finish a plate. Everything tastes like cotillion and cardboard to him these days, anyways. Food, vodka… Even Mila’s hugs feel somehow lacking.

He takes refuge on the last two anyways, as best as he can. Luckily the alcohol repays him in hatred, making him feel sick, and lost, and hollow. He’s had almost every drink besides _him_ after all; and his body remembers. Every time he does so much as touching a bottle, he can feel the hand snaking through his skin again, tracing a path he’s sure it’s embroidered from is hips to his chest by now.

It doesn’t last much more than a week. After that, all he has is Mila, and still, reaching out to her feels cheap. As if he’s playing with cards that aren’t his, drawn for some other person, someone more fitting. Someone warmer, nicer, less disturbingly empty. Someone less him.

Someone definitely not him. He knows there’s no such someone right now, not while he’s the one on Mila’s lap every time the dinner extends to a movie night, lazily resting his head on her shoulders. She always holds him close, always reaches out to brush his hair with her fingers. He encourages her to press harder, carefully manicured nails against his scalp so he feels nothing but the soft scratching. So it feels rough and blunt, and completely different from other, bigger and calloused yet much more delicate fingers threading through his hair.

She always asks if he’s alright, if he has slept. Yuri always says he has. He never mentions the awful dreams that should feel like bliss if it wasn’t for the lack of breath and the cold sweat crawling down his spine in the mornings. He never mentions he can see the sunset in Barcelona like it all happened yesterday, he can feel Otabek’s touch in his sleep as if he wasn’t sleeping alone. That Yuri’s dread is not what’s in his head, but who's not in his bed when he wakes up in the morning. That he tries to stay up for as long as he can because he knows his mind will go back to him; he knows that despite everything, his happy place still includes Otabek, envelops around him.

He lets Yakov scream at him once, twice, a hundred times on the rink. “You’re not feeling it!” He says nothing. He has nothing to feel. He’s buried it all deep; otherwise it would consume him. He has nothing to say to the world, just one single plea. _Just leave me alone_. It’s the one wish the ice cannot give him.

He remembers Otabek’s voice crackling with an emotion Yuri has never heard before in him, and his legs feels like lead, dragging him out of balance and hip first into the ice. It’s cold, and painful, and somehow soothing. But it doesn’t take it away, It doesn’t take _him_ away. _Just please leave me alone._

It hurts too much for it to be dead, but he moves like it was. He ignores the aching every time a reporter says his name, every time an Angel asks, every time the news mention both of them together. The longing is there, the need, but he’s not feeding it. It will have to starve to death. Even if it kills him.

 

At some point he wishes it was actually possible to die of a heartbreak. It all would stop then. The compassionate stares, the fucked up jumps, the void whistling like a rabid wind inside of him. He’s not even pissed off by their pity anymore, he just plays along. But even playing along, he knows when Mila is hiding something from him. He knew by Christmas time she was receiving texts she refused to open in front of him. But this couldn’t be the case; it was Otabek’s number then and Yuri made her block it as well. Without bothering to read one word of whatever Otabek sent. He didn’t care anymore, he won’t listen to one word of his. He gave Otabek a chance, he didn’t take it.

There must be something else now, since Mila isn’t supposed to be following any of the Kazakh guys anymore. She didn’t understand any of what happened but still said she’d block half of Europe if that would make Yuri feel more comfortable. It really doesn’t, nothing really does,  but it’s a nice gesture.  

Yuri stands up behind her as she tries to hide her phone: it’s a video, still playing. The music sounds alluring, loud and deep, familiar. His breath catches in his throat, something sinks deep into his stomach. He tries to say something but nothing comes up; Mila watches him silently as he struggles to pull his own voice out, gaping like a fish out of the water, eyes suddenly wide and showing all the expression he lost in the past few weeks. He’s dumbfounded. He’s stunned. He’s so terribly terribly afraid.

He doesn’t want it all back. The uncertainty, the sharps edges of his evasive answers digging into his flesh, the guilt washing over him afterwards. He doesn’t want to know what was real and what wasn’t. Why couldn’t Otabek say something? If it was something so awful Yuri should have been there for him, to hold him, instead of lashing out.

There was nothing else Yuri could do, was it? He had no idea he was trapped there, in between the things he didn’t know and the things he felt so certain of once but were fading off now. He couldn’t tell what was reality and what a mere mirage. He couldn’t be blamed for acting out the way he did, right?

Right?

The loud blast of the music and the drunken cheers on the phone speaker played again, for the tenth time around since he spaced out, yet Mila doesn’t move to stop it. Or at all; she just stares at every subtle change in Yuri’s expression. He takes a deep breath and stretches out his arm, palm up. Mila fidgets.

“Yuri, let’s better not…”

Yuri doesn’t budge. His eyes are firm, determined, even if his lip is already trembling in a pout he tries hard to control. He doesn’t ask, but he demands. Mila lowers her gaze as she hands the device to him.

Yuri is certain he heard the crack within his ribcage now. He wishes it was actually possible to die of a heartbreak. Or to bleach out his mind and keep on thinking that that it’s not him, it can’t be him, _Beka would never._

Beka would never let some random drunk guy crawl up to his booth. He would never allow him to speak in his ear. He would never lean in and kiss him under the flickering lights and the powerful music bouncing on the walls. He would never, not like this, thirsty, needy, wanting. He would never.

He would never.

Yuri hears the phone fall to the ground, music still playing, video still rolling. _His_ Beka wouldn’t. But this one, the new one... He just might. He just might walk home every night with a different person under his arm, a treacherous glint in his eye. He might just lure them into his arms with nice stories and that little trace of a hidden smile he used to do when he meant to share his joy only with one person. He might just sweeten them up with lovely manners, and catchy tunes and booze; he might just take them dancing.

Just like he did with Yuri.

He feels his stomach twist and turn and…

Mila just watches him as he runs into the bathroom and kneels in front of the first free toilet he can find, letting go of the poor excuse of a lunch he managed to keep down today. He was played like a fucking fiddle. It was all a trick, all of it. The soldier eyes, the admiration. He was probably just another mark on Otabek’s scoreboard. A big one, even: he managed to tame the fucking Ice Tiger. He managed to make Yuri think only of him, to make him dream only of him, to make him yearn his body against his own on the bed every morning. Otabek took him up and let him fall, destroyed him. He must have been so fucking proud.

Yuri leans his back against the cold tile wall and bring his knees up close and against his chest. He was such an idiot. He feel on the hands of a fucking playboy, already including him in every future scene he daydreamed on the ice and off. He felt so high, so special when he was around Otabek, as if the world vanishes and there’s only them and whatever he decides to paint for Yuri right at that moment. Yuri just happened to like the picture so much he hasn’t looked at the real world in ages. More like two years. The guy did take some hellish effort to sweep him off his feet on a whim. A playboy with a strong determination he is.

And Yuri is still the fucking clueless idiot who fell for the oldest trick in the book. The best fucking friend. Damn him. He should have seen it coming a mile away. His insides tighten and hurt like his whole body was being grinded into a pulp, his chest still heaving with the effort and the silent sobbing, and the air that doesn’t seem to reach his lungs no matter how hard he tries. He can see Mila on the door, gesturing wildly but he can’t hear anything more than his own thoughts. He’d give anything to make them shut up for once.

He can’t hear anything but Otabek’s voice, and every little compliment he’s said during all this time. His stomach threatens to give in again but there’s nothing inside of him to pull out anymore. He feels like a carcass of his old self: cold and empty and aching.

He can’t hear anything but his thoughts as he bangs his head against the tiles and screams his lungs out just to know it’s all still there, the floor havent sunk in under him, there’s something making his throat sore still, he’s there somewhere. He still is.

He can’t hear anything but his thoughts until someone holds him tight, burying him on their chest, a hand cradling the top of his head. Until he sees through the blur in his gaze the known silhouette of Katsuki kneeled on the floor, talking to him in a soft, kindergarten teacher mellow English. Until he recognizes the soft murmurs on his ears, and brush of silver bangs on his forehead. Until he feels the warmth of hands taking his own, and lifts up his eyes to see Mila sitting right next to him, mouthing a slow, mute, “I love you.”

He knows that. He knows all of it. It’s just a crisis, it’s gonna pass, he’ll be just fine. He wishes it was enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri still doesn’t trust his own free skate program, even when Yakov insists this is the best he can give right now; the best he can learn. The choreography is breathtaking and full on technical advantages, Yuri gives him that, yet it still feels empty. He thinks of the way Agape made him feel lost in the music, in the motions. He thinks of everything that made Agape works, that made it his and the tightness grows back into his chest.

Resilience. Yakov says he can endure, he can skate. He can move past this. Yuri‘s still skeptical. He has nothing less to lose anyways; he can’t skate better than this, not anymore. He doesn’t have the strength, the drive for it as he did. He won’t back down just for that: broken and void, he’s still one proud warrior. He won’t let Otabek walk out with _his_ medal so easily.

Luckily he’s not so lost this time: the World’s competition takes place in Saitama, Japan, and Katsuki insists on taking him sightseeing. There’s a lot he still doesn’t know about Japan, really. Hasetsu is a fairly small place and he doesn’t do much more than taking strolls down the beach and hanging out at the onsen. His eyes go wide the first time he actually steps on a Japanese fair. Illuminated by paper lanterns and a faint scent of fried delicacies (Katsudon would call them that, of course he would) Yuri couldn’t avert his gaze from anything. All wild colored, bright figurines and pastries and clothes stare at him from the stands under the already darkening sky. It looks like a postcard. Yuri gawks at the vision, only to turn and see Katsuki smiling wide at him.

“What?” He tries to frown but he’s still dazzled by beauty of it all.

“Nothing.” Katsuki looks away, back at the market. “I just haven’t seen you smile in a while. It’s nice.”

Yuri soffs and pull his hoodie up, trying to cover the obvious blush on his face with his hair, cascading over his shoulder. Good thing the lanterns aren’t bright enough. He didn't even notice he was smiling. Damn Katsudon. “It’s nice, I guess.” He frowns again. “How come you’re not here with the idiot? You’re practically attached by the hip.”

“I wanted to go out with you tonight.” Katsuki replies as if it was the most normal thing in the world, a smile wide across his face. How can he pull such a phrase so easily? Yuri still has troubles to be that open; specially after the last person who made him feel he could…. Suddenly he feels himself being pulled by his arm, and notices Katsuki locking arms with him, encouraging him forward. “Let’s get you something nice, yeah? As a token of good luck?”

Yuri chuckles. Lightheartedly. He’s amazed at himself for forgetting the weight on his shoulders so easily for once. “You’re not gonna try to marry me, too, aren’t you?”

Katsuki stops dead in his tracks, bright red and gesturing wildly. “That was all Viktor’s idea! I only gave him the ring! I…” He pauses. Looks back at the boy smirking a him. “You’re messing with me.”

“Of fucking course I am! You think I’d marry you?” Yuri bumps their shoulders together. “You’re not that hot, you know.” He winces the moment he hears the words coming out of his mouth. He should have thought them better.

“So I’m a little bit hot?” Yuri tries to pull off his arm but Katsuki grips him tighter. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Relax.” Yuri huffs as Katsuki pulls them closer to one particular shop selling all kind of handmade accessories. “Look at this, Yuri!” He had the common decency to call him by his actual name when they were alone, at least. He slips a little elastic cloth thing around his wrist. “It kind of fits you, don’t you think?” Yuri stares at his wrist, trying to find a point where light reflects directly on the bracelet. It’s a simple thing: a piece of tiger print velvety cloth joined by a small chain, black stripes in white background. It’s not much, but it does something to him; he can’t stop staring. He barely hear the words. “The Ice Tiger of Russia, right?”, Katsuki says with a chuckle and Yuri nudges him on the arm just to cut the sugary feeling starting to form on his chest.

Idiot. Sweet, nonsense talking idiot. “This is silly.” He says, grabbing the bracelet to let it loose again, feeling the cloth snap at his skin. He looks up and see Katsuki already looming, reaching out to it. He moves his hand away. “I’m taking this. Ask how much-”

“No, no! “ Katsuki snaps back and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “It’s on me. A gift. A good luck charm?” He pays and put his wallet back on its place while they keep on walking. “To help you with your free skate tomorrow.”

Yuri can’t help but laugh at his tries of sounding confident, waiting for a reaction. “Yeah yeah, okay. Thanks, I guess.” Katsuki’s face lights up in a minute. “It’s not such a big deal.”

“I know.” Katsuki still smiles like an idiot, though. “It’s just nice that you’ve accepted something from me, that’s it. I thought you didn’t like me.”

Yuri averts his eyes to look at anything but the guy babbling next to him, still on his arm. “You’re alright.” He stops by a stand of handknitted dolls, poking at a little black kitten with a white spot on his chest. “You’d have noticed if I hated you.” He hears a shy laughter by him.

“I guess? You’re surely one to throw yourself out there.” Katsuki grips him tightly for a second, as if he just remembered. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.” He turns to grab Yuri by his shoulders, locking eyes with him. “You’ll ace this.”

A second passes and Yuri’s not so sure he wants to break contact; he’s been getting closer to Katsuki since after his meltdown on the rink’s bathroom but never _this_ close. Viktor was always around after all, and touching his husband, even though innocently, felt dirty to him. And to be completely honest, it would probably lead to some irritating comment from the silver haired manchild. Yuri would not admit he felt Katsuki was the only one who understood the turmoil inside of him, how he felt so overwhelmed at times and so completely empty a second after. Mila tried her best and Yuri appreciated it, of course he did, in his own way, but she didn’t really understand. There’s like a transparent veil between them; she can’t really reach him.

Yuri feels the need to hug him. He always does, somehow, everytime they speak. And everytime they speak he tries to shake away the feeling. “Whatever.” He shrugs one of the hands on his shoulder away, as gentle as he can, and walks off. “Let’s keep looking.”

 

After a couple of deep fried and definitely not Lilia approved snacks, they walk past the benches looking for a place to rest. Another moonless night. Yuri looks up to the too few stars anyways. It looks much better from Hasetsu for sure, but it’s still soothing. He feels the sudden stop on Katsuki’s steps and looks at him. The older man tries to yank him off the path softly but Yuri doesn’t budge; he eyes him suspiciously and looks ahead. At the bench at the side of the marked pathway on the park. At the two figures lazily leaning on each other on that bench. At the leather covering the broad back, and the ponytail sticking off the end of the undercut. He feels he’s stopped breathing, no matter how hard he tries. He can’t quite recognize the other person (man or woman? Definitely with hair up to their shoulders.) nuzzling on the guy’s neck as he lets an arm wrap around their shoulders and hold them tight.

He practically doesn’t notice the tight grip on his arms from behind; he only notices when the voice finally reaches his ears. “Let’s just go, okay?” Yuri wants to answer to Katsuki. No, it’s not okay: it’s not fucking okay. Otabek is not allowed to move on like nothing has happened. He’s not allowed to bring someone to the park and let them touch him like this. He’s not fucking allowed to make out with people on a fucking club like it’s nobody’s business! That should have been Yuri up there! Why couldn’t it be him?

Right. Because he was carefully lied to, and fooled into a love he can barely grasp, and can’t shake off still. He hates the feeling, the nausea that comes back to him every time he knows about Otabek again. Every time he realizes he can’t stay far away for long. It’s like magnetism: the guy always pulls him back, always shows up somehow. In random instagram videos, on horribly vivid dreams. On the fucking sidewalk, for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah.” Yuri feels his teeth grinding when he speaks. “Let’s get back.”

Yuri knows it must be his imagination when he feels a stare on his back. He knows Otabek doesn’t care enough to turn around, to follow him with his gaze as he walk away. He knows he’s not looking at him puppy eyed, while clutching onto his companion’s shoulder for dear life, biting his lip to stop himself from shouting Yuri’s name. He doesn’t care enough.

 

* * *

 

 

He assumes his position on the ice as the lights fall into him. The tiger print bracelet stands out over his long black gloves yet fits enough with his white shirt - black trousers combination for Lilia not to make him take it off. She probably wouldn’t either, seeing how Yuri returned to it, snapping it against his wrist every time he got uneasy. The commentator mentions the Kazahkstan’s Hero. snap. Plisetsky is going all the way to take away Nikiforov’s title. Snap. will he make it this time? Snap snap. He glances at Katsuki smiling at him from the bleachers, shouting something over the loud roaring of the audience. He doesn’t need to hear it to know what it is.

One of the strongest persons he knows, huh? Maybe he could actually pull it off. Resilience. To endure and move from every fall. He feels the music piercing through his bones, moving him like a puppet; he doesn’t need to think much, the steps are already imprinted on him.  The jumps land gracefully, not at his best, his arms almost always clutching his frame, but enough to make him trust he’ll reach the podium.

Then he sees him. The white and blue jacket standing out on the high end on the bleachers. He can’t see the expression on his face but he doesn’t need to. He doesn't want to. He goes for a triple axel and falls on his side. He gets up. Resilience. He can do this. Fuck, he can. Snap. His step sequence become sloppy but it’s still there. His mind rushes, trying to find the rhythm again. Shut it all down, just listen to the music. Damn it. He follows with  combination; the triple becomes a double but it’s still there. His breath starts failing him again, he feels the world way too loud for his taste, his head start throbbing. Fuck, focus. He feels exhausted, and he hasn’t even reach the end yet. He goes for a quad flip. He barely lands it, wobbles through it to his ending stance. He lowers his gaze, tears starting to roll down. Damn it, pull yourself together. He practically runs to the kiss and cry, leaning forward and covering his face so the cameras can’t catch his pathetic whimpering. It’s still pretty obvious by the silence of the Angels in the audience. He barely listens to the score: it’s not too bad but it’s easy to beat. He knows he’s not getting on the podium this year.

He knows he couldn’t have stood there in front of the cameras anyways. He runs to the bathroom as soon as he can put his shoes back on and leans on the tile wall. The long mirror is by his side but he keeps his eyes glued to the opposite wall, willingly avoiding his own reflection. He knows he looks pitiful, he prefers not to actually see it. It’s too painful. He just lost the one thing he knew how to do. He can’t fucking skate, not like he used to. Resilience. Fuck it, he can’t do it. Katsuki is wrong, he’s not strong enough. He’s not even fucking close. He tries to shut the sound of people round him, the commentator on the next skater’s routine.

_“.. In a routine AND a song arranged by himself, the Kazakh prodigy Otabek Altin…”_

Of course the next one has to be him. Life seems to have a particular kink about fucking Yuri up, so why not? He feels his throat rasped and burning, in the flesh, as if the words he’s trying to bury deep down are trying to scratch his way back up, tearing up pieces of him in the process. He swallows hard.

“ _... His theme is mourning this year. He hasn’t declared more than that. The fans can’t help but wonder…”_

The fans can go fuck themselves. They think they can guess? No one can. The guy is a fucking riddle. Shit, Yuri has been next to him for over two years and he’s not sure of anything about Otabek Altin; of what was real and what wasn’t. Good luck with trying to decipher him. It will take them fucking years and a master’s degree on some form of tiny smile hieroglyphics.

Yuri chuckles at himself. The innocence. He has tried too, after all. He failed miserably. And he was never told he was wrong. That was probably the worst part; the way Otabek lets people play with his image however they want. He never corrects anyone, never answers a taunt. Fuck, he let his fans call them _boyfriends_ for weeks and Yuri had to be the one to correct them! Even though he didn’t really want to, even though he was enjoying the attention. As a way to test the waters, probably.

As if it would ever happen. Oh, the fucking innocence. He should have known better.

The program ends up soon enough and Yuri can’t give enough of a fuck to listen to the scoring, hushed by the squealing of the audience. After his DJ habits got out, his fanbase got flooded by rabid girls, after all. He sighs deep. Fans, groupies, whatever they end up being. At this point he’s not so sure Otabek would be decent enough not to fuck starstruck teenage girls.

The bathroom door opens and Yuri is ready to curse out everyone who crosses it. Yet the words catch up on his throat. The newcomer clicks his tongue at him, his eyes not fond anymore, not even blank as they used to be. They look furious, even when there is no other trace of emotion on his face. As always. “Good to find you here.” His voice still sounds collected.

Yuri gulps loudly. He wants to let him know of his rage, of his sorrow, yet he can’t pull the words. He’s dreamt of it for so long, and it was never like this. He refuses to cry this time; he won’t be defeated again. Resilience, he doesn’t want to move on, he wants to fight it. He can’t. He lowers his gaze, pulling himself off the wall. “I was just leaving-”

“No, you’re not.” Otabek shoves him back against the wall, a firm hand pinning him by the shoulder. “What the fuck was that?”

“What?” the words come back harder than he meant, yet he doesn’t regret it. Still he can’t meet his gaze without melting inside. He keeps staring at the floor between them.

“That shit out there! You, falling off an Axel? You’re better than that! What the hell happened to you?” Otabek has never swore that much in front of Yuri. Must be a part of his true colors, huh? Stoic charming gentleman be damn, he’s just another asshole.

“ _You_ happened to me!” Yuri stares hardly at him this time, showing his teeth,screaming at his face. He wonders when the fuck did he get this close, he can feel Otabek’s breath on his face. “You made me believe I was this... Big, important thing to you. You _lied_ to me!”

“I did not-”

“Fuck off! Shut up! You had your chance to speak, this is mine.” He takes a deep breath. Fuck resilience: if he’s gonna have to suffer through this sharp pain in his chest he’s not gonna go down without a fight. “You purposely lied to me. You fucking hid from me! And then you,” Yuri represses a sob. Not now, fuck, not now. “You go and _whore around_ like nothing has happened.”

The moment the words come out of his mouth he knows he did wrong. Who was he to claim what Otabek could and could not do with his own body? Against strangers. In a fucking club. In front of _cameras_ . He could have been that stranger, too, if he’d have stuck to him long enough. Or if he had much less decency than he does, because that is fucking disgusting. Yet Yuri knows it’s not shame he feels when he thinks about it, replaying the whole scene in his head. It’s not the nausea that (he’ll claim forever) crawls up his throat when he sees Viktor and his Katsudon making out on the ice. It’s something more violent, something fierce, that lashes out while digging into him, like a double blade sword; he can’t hold it, he can’t think about Otabek touching, _kissing_ other people without bleeding for it. Without making others feel his pain too.   

“You think it doesn’t pain me, too?!” Otabek hisses. He wants to scream at him, yet he doesn’t. Yuri knows the feeling, he can see it in his eyes. “You think it doesn’t hurt? I spent five years trying to reach you, you think I’d just unload all my shit onto you? You have no idea the things I’ve lived. Don’t you think for one second, that maybe I did it for you? For your own fucking piece of mind?” He runs his free hand through his hair, exasperated. Yuri almost flinches when his voice suddenly goes higher. He’s trying hard not to break, too. “Fuck, Yura, how can you be so fucking selfish? I tried reaching out and you shut me off. And _now_ you wanna talk?” He lets Yuri go, stepping back.

“Wha- Do you think I’m a fucking child?! You’ve… The fucker, he… Don’t toy with me!” Yuri snaps back as an involuntary reflex; his mind’s still processing the words said. He can’t think of anything else but Otabek kissing random guys under the shadows, on filthy sick places; a lot of random guys that are not Yuri.

Otabek smiles that sarcastic smile of his he does when he’s cornered, leaning on his hand on the sinks. “And what do you even care of what I do with my free time? I could fuck the entire population of Russia if i wanted to. What’s the big deal?”

“That you haven’t even fucking kissed me!” Yuri doesn’t understand where that sentence came. He didn’t want to be one of his… flings. His fucking hook ups. He wouldn’t stand it, being used like a dirty rag and thrown away. What he wants from Otabek he doesn’t think he can get anymore. His so called ‘best friend’ is not who Yuri thought he was; he couldn’t love him the way Yuri wanted.

But he doesn’t get the chance to reflect on it: he feels a hand gripping at the back of his head, tugging on his hair to bring him closer and hard slightly chapped lips enclosing onto his, biting hard at his mouth as they break apart.

“Happy?” Otabek snaps at him, still close enough for their foreheads to almost touch, his eyes clouded with what Yuri deems it’s anger. “‘Cause I’m not.”

“Fuck you.” Yuri grabs Otabek by his team jacket to pull him into a kiss, thirsty this time, yet not less violent; all tongues teasing and teeth gnawing. It feels like it lasted hours when they pull apart, panting, Yuri’s gaze already clouded with lust. He can’t think clearly, the pain still stings at him but his body pulses, asking for more. “You think I’m scared of you? You couldn’t make a fucking scratch on me even if i stood here with my hands tied to my fucking back.”

Otabek chuckles, and Yuri feels the vibration so close to his lips his body reacts. He closes his legs tight to help the needy sensation of his erection go away. “Don’t play with fire, Yura. You’re smarter than that.”

“You don’t burn hot enough to hurt me.” Yuri taunts, and by this time he feel enraptured by Otabek’s heat over him, his legs touching, the way he pushes his hip against Yuri’s and his breath hitches. “And why shouldn’t I? I’m part of Russia’s population, after all.”

Otabek’s stunned at the comeback. Perplexed. He lifts a brow and Yuri does not pull back, smiling hungrily at him, as if he was a predator about to jump onto his prey and not the way pinned against a public bathroom’s wall. He still doesn’t budge and Otabek can’t help but feel curious about how far Yuri’s willing to go. He promises himself it’s just for a taunt, not for the need that consumes him every time he does so much as touching Yuri.

Otabek kisses him hard, pulling a muffled whine from Yuri, holding onto his hair as if he’s about to drown on the sensation otherwise. He runs a hand through the blond’s spine, making him squirm under his frame. His nails travel across Yuri’s back all the down to his ass and back to his waist. He breaks the kiss only to pull him inside one of the stalls, and close the door behind them. Yuri immediately grabs Otabek by his waist and pulls him close, brushing his erection against Otabek’s, biting on his lip to kiss him again. Otabek breaks free, pinning Yuri against the wall, both hands over his head.

“Yuri. you’re a fucking virgin.”

“So?” He pouts and squirms under Otabek’s grip and the older guy’s stare changes for a bit, deepens, darkens. So it’s the pouting that makes him tick. huh? Yuri pulls himself as close to Otabek’s lips as he can and tries again. “You won’t break me.” He licks his lips, painfully slow, and smirks. “I bet you can’t pull one sound out of me.”

He’s trusting on Otabek’s competitive nature to not be a bluff. He’s more than pleased when Otabek holds both his wrists with one hand, pulling the other down to his chin, pressing him against the tiles to whisper in his ear. “You better not make one little meow, Yuri.” He runs his tongue slowly from Yuri’s collarbone to his ear to gnaw at his lobe, and Yuri presses his mouth thin not to let that little whimper escape. He hears a chuckle. “Good boy.”

Otabek let Yuri’s hands fall to his sides while planting soft kisses all over the part of his chest his shirt allows to reach easily, without ever breaking eye contact. A hands stays firmly on his shoulder while the other brushes slowly from his chest down through the marked line of his abs and slowly bristling through the hair on his belly through the flimsy fabric of the shirt. Yuri’s head shoots up and against the tiles, making him wince at the contact,  when he feels a hand holding his cock through the fabric. Right, virgin. He needs to make this last more than thirty fucking seconds and looking at Otabek’s lewd stare constantly keeping eye contact is not helping. No matter the restraint, he still hisses when Otabek pulls his pants and boxers barely down in one swift motion; he still moans through closed lips when Otabek kisses his thigh, and bites afterwards, sucking hard. His skin prickles as he feels Otabek’s tongue fall flat on his skin, licking all the way from his thigh to his crotch and _stops._

Yuri can feel the man’s breath against his shaft but refuses to look down; tries to encourage him to go on but no words come out, only a pathetic little sound, like a meow. It’s still good enough, as he feels fingers softly gripping the base of his shaft, barely rubbing against his balls, lips tentatively brushing on the tip. He feels a shudder at the first leap of Otabek’s tongue against the head of his cock, licking the precum off of him and swirling down slowly to come back up; his legs feel too heavy to keep him upright yet too light at the same time, his skin tingling, sensing everything from the icy cold of the wall through his shirt and onto his neck to the unbearable heat of Otabek’s mouth; his brain can’t focus on anything else. His eyes fall shut, chin up, and a hand against the wall, as the other crawls to twine through Otabek’s hair, right before the hair tie. He feels the damp warmth enveloping him, barely a little, and tries not to cry out. He almost makes it. He doesn’t realize: he can’t hear anything else but the filthy sound of Otabek sucking on his cock and suddenly hollowing his cheeks and _holy fuck_ Yuri represses a groan through his teeth, biting his lip hard. He jerks his hip forwards, bucking against Otabek’s mouth and feels a hand on his thigh, crawling to his ass, encouraging him to go on.Yuri grips on Otabek’s hair tightly for support as he keeps thrusting into his mouth, clashing against the back of his throat, trembling at Otabek’s moans vibrating into him. He covers his mouth with his hand, biting on the heel to stop himself from making any more undignified noises and swears he sees stars for a second. He tries to pull out but Otabek pushes him further, letting him come inside of him.

He starts to see why they call it an afterglow; he feels used up, lightheaded, all of his body way too sensitive to dare move from his spot, too tired to even take a step. He doesn’t get much time to analyze it; feels the hand still on his mouth being pulled off, and Otabek’s mouth taking its spot, his fingers holding his chin to force Yuri’s jaw open. He tastes something bitter rushing down his throat but lets it, noticing what it is a second after Otabek finally breaks off the kiss and leans on the opposite wall of the stall.

He brushes a hand to his lips. Was that…? “What the fuck, Beka?!”

Otabek only smirks, brushing his thumb against his lower lip, wiping something off. “You’re so full of yourself, I thought it’d be fitting.”

Yuri hisses and looks away, trying to fix his pants the least shameful way he can. He feel completely naked, even though he’s not anymore. He still doesn’t know if that is a bad thing. He looks back to see a hand extended in front of him, as if expecting a handshake.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks the most polite way he can, lifting a brow.

Otabek roll his eyes at him. “Will it kill you to trust a little for five seconds and follow my lead?”

 _Well, it kind of did._ He wants to snap back, yet he contains himself. His words still sound growled; blame it on the soreness of his throat. “Fine.” He shakes his hand

“Otabek Altin.”

“I know that, you sh-”

“I was first arrested when I was fourteen.” Yuri stares into his eyes, sees a particular glimpse. Not unlike the shadow clouding his smile on the Gala night. “Breaking and entering.”

Yuri feels the need to lighten up the mood somehow; it’s gotten suddenly dark, and he refuses to feel pity. He’d be offended if someone felt pity for him, after all. “You’re not gonna go with the whole ‘didn’t have a place to sleep and had to whore myself for money’, right?”

Otabek laughs. “No. I never had money issues. I had a dorm, I just didn’t wanna stay in it. I broke into the rink, didn’t know it had a silent alarm.” He shrugs it off and opens the door of the stall, checking that no one was there.

“Wait, why didn’t you stay at your dorm?” Yuri follows him out, yet Otabek stop a couple of feet away from him, at the bathroom door.

“That’s a story for another day.” He turns around. Smiles. “Don’t want to bore you just now. This way you’ll just have to keep talking to me.”

Yuri scoffs. “I’m not unblocking you just like that.”

Otabek pretends to think about it, looking up and back at Yuri. “Well, I won’t be able to text you the rest of the story then.” He gives Yuri time to cut in yet still interrupts him. “They must be looking for you, Yura.” He leaves before Yuri gets to say anything about it.

Yuri groans. Loud. He stomps at the floor. He realizes he’s throwing a tantrum but he doesn’t care anymore. Fuck him. Fuck all of him. Fuck everything he represents. And fuck the way he can change his mood in a fucking second. And fuck himself for unblocking him the second he steps out of the bathroom,  just out of curiosity.


	5. Chapter 5

Sure, Yuri gets yelled and scolded the second his coaches find him on the hallways. And interrogated; there’s a lot of that happening, too. And, of course, Altin’s name is mentioned. He’ll take the silver, apparently, while Yuri will walk out empty handed. 

For once he doesn’t feel so bitter about it. Sure, his body is failing him still. But the weight that was keeping him down on the ice somehow feels lighter now. Not that it isn’t there, but Yuri feels he can breathe easier now. That he can speak his mind… Part of it. But definitely more than before. That’s something, right? 

Yes, they talked. Talked, that’s all. They did NOT engage in a fist fight or anything, Yakov, please do back off. Yes, Lilia, there was some yelling, of course there was. But things are fine. Civil. Yuri’s not willing to buy him a giant plush teddy bear with a ribbon saying “sorry I got offended because you bullshited me throughout two fucking years and I just found out you know how to break into places and suck cock like a god.”. 

He did not tell them that part. Just… things are fine; they are doomed to see each other until one of them retires, so thing have to be fine, right? He’s just trying to be the better man.

He’s most definitely not texting him under the table during dinner. He’s, however, most definitely catching the sneaky smile of Mila as she notices he’s most definitely texting someone under the table. She says nothing though. Viktor asks about his encounter with Otabek, sure, but Katsudon shuts him up in no time; Yuri’s had a rough time, he’s fixing it as he can. Talking things out also helps with closure. Isn’t that right, Yuri?

Yeah, Closure. That’s exactly what they were doing. 

Yuri just huffs and groans instead of replying to any question thrown his way, focusing all his attention on the food on his plate. The chat drifts towards the podium (Katsuki fell on bronze this time; Viktor snatched the gold on his last year as a competitive skater) and the other skater’s programs until it falls suddenly silent at Yuri’s words.

“I’m ordering something else.” He slumps back on his chair. Notices everyone on the table is staring at him. “What? I’m hungry”

“You haven’t finished eating a full plate for…. Well, probably months.” Viktor chimes in, mellow toned, as if he wanted to pull something out of Yuri. “Did something happen that I haven’t heard about? Did you meet someone?”

“I’m just hungry, geezer. Let me be.” He shrugs. He did meet someone, didn’t he? A new Otabek, the real one. There’s still too much to know about him, but it’s still thrilling to guess what he’ll have in store for Yuri. He smirks at the thought of a challenge.

He feels someone leaning on his shoulder. Fuck.

“You can talk to me, you know.” Mila saw him, of course she did. “You always can. I won’t say a thing.”

Snap. He fidgets. He knows he’ll have to tell someone; he’ll need to talk about all of it eventually with someone and everyone at this point hated Otabek. Because he made them. But Mila didn’t stop reading him until Yuri told her, so. 

He texts her. There’s no way he’ll casually tell he’s got his first blowjob in a bathroom stall over dinner. With his mentor there. And his coaches, with whom he still lives, by the way. Not happening. 

“WOW.” Radio silence on the table again. Mila covers her mouth with her hands the second the word comes out of her mouth. “I just got a text from a friend, Sara, you know Sara, and just. Wow.” She emphasizes her expression opening her eyes wide. “I’m not telling what it says, of course, but oh my God. I don’t judge, don’t get me wrong, but oh my God, that is the sexiest thing I’ve read in awhile.” 

“Ohhh, what is?” Viktor pokes at her, heart shaped smile and all. Katsuki just flushes bright red while Yakov goes straight to pale white. Lilia doesn’t even pay attention. She never listens to these talks. 

“I,” Mila pauses for effect, one finger up in front of her face, “am not telling you. I said that. Just trust me that it is.” She giggles at the groan of frustration from Viktor. 

Yuri’s phone buzzes in his hand. He reads the text just because it’s Mila’s. He has an unread text from Otabek already but he won’t be checking on that until he’s back on his room, and alone. Completely alone, just in case. 

 

< _ Newsflash: your stoic Hero fixes things over BJs. you should fight him more often. Rawr. _

 

“Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me?” Yuri notices he’s said the words aloud at the scolding from Lilia. Now she paid attention, great.  

“What’s wrong, Yurio?” Viktor singsongs and Yuri’s gut twists. 

“That is not my name!” 

Oh well. Looks like the fire is back. 

Yuri stop dead in his track as Yakov pats his back. “Now, now Yurochka.” He smiles. “Let’s ask for seconds, yes?” 

 

He manages to dodge past Katsuki. That one is easy: he’s the first one to understand Yuri needs some space. He manages to dodge past Yakov and Lilia; they wouldn’t breathe on his neck anyways, it’s not their style, really. 

Viktor, now. Viktor takes a bit more work. He’s sure Otabek has done something to him. Sure, he’s not  _ wrong _ but it’s not like he’s put a knife to Yuri’s throat. Although Viktor acts like he most certainly could have. Specially while clinging onto Yuri’s shoulders so he can’t shrug him off. Damn him and his fucking tall and heavy self. 

“Don’t you want some company, Yurio? You’ll be so alone!” Viktor complains on his ear, like a fucking school kid. 

“Maybe I _ want  _ to be alone, geezer. Get off of me!” Yuri tries to shrug him off as he hisses at the strangers walking past them on the corridor.  They must look like a joke, and they’re still wearing the team jackets, for fuck’s sake. Hasn’t viktor got any shame? “Come on, people are staring!”

“But I don’t want to be you alone! You might get sad or…” He changes his voice from a childish whim to something more sinister, his tone an octave lower, “find some  _ not too good _ company.”

Yuri snaps at that comment, stepping forward and out of Viktor’s reach, making him stumble. “For fuck’s sake, man, I can take care of my own! I’m eighteen, back off for once, and let me do my own thing!”. He turns to walk away but stares back over his shoulder. “And you know what? If I wanna go and fuck a shit delinquent’s brains out, then I fucking will!” He groans loudly, looking forward away. “If I want to do stupid shit, then I will, I’m tired of this whole protection thing. Maybe I don’t need protecting, maybe I need to fuck up on my own, for once!” He walks out. Viktor doesn’t follow. 

He stomps his anger away; he feels almost lightheaded by the time he reaches his room’s door, having walked up the stairs in order not to cross anyone else. Then he sees her. He’s almost forgotten: now he’ll have to ditch her too. But she’s too fast for him.

“You weren’t just thinking you could make a run past me, were you?” Mila chuckles at him, leaning on the wall just in front of his door. Shit. She’s been waiting for him. “I wanna know every. Little. Thing.”

“I told you enough, Baba.” Yuri sweeps his key card through the lock and the door clicks open, yet he’s not quick enough to stop Mila, who pushes him inside and closes the door behind them. He sighs and sits cross legged on the unmade bed. “You’re not getting one more word from me.”

She sits next to him on the bed, kneeling on the mattress and bouncing against it out of excitement. “He  _ must _ have done something so incredible that made you unblock him, Kitten, I know that much.”

“Huh?”

“You think I don’t know you texted him at dinner?” Mila huffs in exasperation, “It’s amazing how dense you can be! It was written all over your face.” She gestures wildly, pointing at him. Yuri needs to use all his restraint not to bite her finger off.

“He… Talked to me, okay?” He starts playing absentmindedly with a loose thread on the seam of his pants, next to his ankle. He can’t stand Mila’s eyes burning into him as he speaks. “I figured it was only fair to let him, since he wanted to.” He wants to pull out his phone so bad; the curiosity is consuming him, but Mila won’t just  _ leave. _

“He talked to you?” She looks at him mockingly confused. “Really? With your cock in his mouth?”

“God, Mila, no!” Yuri feels all of his blood rushing to his face and pulls his head down to his hands leaning on his knees, to hide himself from her. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He feels a finger poking on his shoulder. “I just want to knooow, Kitten. What did he  _ do _ ?”

“What did he do with  _ what?!” _ Yuri emphasizes the word by jumping out of his cocoon, glaring daggers at his friend, who doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, she laughs. “Do you want me to be that specific?” Yuri tilts his head in confusion. She speaks slow and clear, as a kindergarten teacher would. He hopes he never gets to hear an actual teacher talking such foul things. “Would you mind so much to tell me what was he was doing with his tongue and his mouth on your cock? And around, of course. I see him as a thorough kind of man, don’t you?”

Yuri grabs fistfuls of his hair. Is she fucking serious? “Oh. My. God. Mila!! You’re disgusting, I’m so not telling you that, what the fuck?? Do you talk with all your friends like this?!”

Mila snorts, “Well… Yeah? I like to know.” She giggles as he groans. 

Do people actually tell each other these things? Yuri can’t say he’s truly felt the stinging of embarrassment until this moment. He wishes for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. But then maybe it would also take Mila, and she would keep asking. He can’t think of a way out. He sighs. Loudly. “I don’t know, okay? It’s…” He takes a deep breath and tries to think about it but he remembers only one thing in vivid detail. “It’s like a short circuit. Like you feel things everywhere. Like tickling, but good tickling. And you can’t hear anything from the outside and… the air feels like fire and your muscles feel like mush.” He rambles staring deeply at his plain comforter and hears a chuckle when he finally stops. “What is so fucking funny?”

“That, my sweet child,” Mila puts a finger to her lips as she speaks, “is a really, really good orgasm. Congratulations!” She pokes his nose with her raised finger and he does, this time, try to bite it. “Hey, control yourself, Kitten.” She smirks. “Have you noticed?”

“What?” He spits out as menacing as he can. Which, with the current deep red color on his face, isn’t really much. 

“You’ve been smiling again.” Mila smiles and this time it feel warm, like something washing his rot from inside. Has he, now? 

He remembers the text. After the talk he’s just been forced to have, he assumes nothing worse would come out of it. “Hold on, I have to read this.”

> _ So whats your story? _

< _ My coach said I was meant to be there, I just lost my key. I stayed with her that night. _

Yuri frowns at his phone. That can’t be all of it. Why the fuck was he there in the first place? And what about afterwards? Viktor had mentioned he actually spent night in jail; that cannot possibly be it. 

> _ Thats not all of it, is it? What happened after _

_ < Coach mentioned my lack of sleep at the rink. A guy offered me his home. I stayed with him. _

He feels fingers threading through his hair, pulling it back. Mila lets her head fall on Yuri’s neck to stare at the screen. When she’s moved so close to him, he has no idea. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He tries to stay very very calm, despite the fact that the nosy bitch is reading his fucking conversation. 

“I wanna know, that’s all.” She turns to kiss his cheek and smiles at the face of disgust. “I’m curious. Sue me.”

“I fucking will.” He scoffs. He doesn’t push her away, though. She’s been there the whole time, even when he knows he’s been nothing but a burden to her. She’s probably the only one he can count on at this point. What damage can a few texts do, anyways? It’ not like Otabek is a dick pic kind of guy, right?

Please, don’t let Otabek be a dick pic kind of guy. Not now. He’d never see the end of it. 

> _ why werent you at home in the first place _

_ < You sound like a concerned mother, Yura, Relax. _

What kind of fucking answer is that? Mila giggles and he just wants to jump off the bed and go running to Otabek to make him spill it once and for all. What’s with all the mystery? He’s not comfortable with his own story, but suckng cock in a public bathroom is just peachy? He feels there’s a hole in the logic he doesn’t quite know how to fill. 

> _ thats not an answer _

The next texts takes forever to reach Yuri. It has been erased and retyped for what it feels like ages, as Yuri stares in deep concentration and the three dots on the screen. 

< _ No. that’s all you get for now. Don’t push it. _

“No? What does he mean ‘no’? Didn’t he just want to tell me? What the hell?” He feels something pulling his elbows a bit higher as Mila’s arms surround him in a tight embrace.

“You know, it could be a big thing.” He side glances at her. “Like, an important thing he wouldn’t say over the phone?” He stares. Doesn’t move. “As in, you should probably go and ask him?”

“How do you want me to do that? I don’t even know whe-”

“Room 908.” He squints at her. “What? I was about to talk to him about all of this. But then… You did, so.”

He scoffs. “Fine!” He dangles his legs on the edge of the bed and Mila lets him go, only calling him out as he’s about to cross the door. 

“Go get it, Tiger!” 

He flinches at the  _ incredibly loud _ sound of her voice bouncing of the hallway walls. “Isn’t the phrase ‘go, get him’? Go get what?”

She winks and clicks her tongue, still yelling at him. “The dick, of course!” 

Yuri groans loudly, “Oh my GOD, Mila!” and slams the door shut. 

That is fucking embarrassing. She’s fucking embarrassing. But she always finds the way to help. In her own, completely embarrassing way. Shit. 

Well, room 908. Two floors up. He runs to the stairs. 

He’ll get his damn answer.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri swears he’s stopped breathing the second the door opens. 

Otabek looks at him through half lidded, tired eyes; his hair messy and brushed to the side. He’s wearing nothing but some gym pants hanging a bit too low on his hips as he just lets go of the doorknob and walks back into the bed, a smirk dancing on his lips, to where the laptop is waiting for him. Yuri walks in and close the door behind him as if it was his own room; stands in front of the man now leaning against the bedframe with his laptop propped up on his legs. 

“I wanna know.”

Otabek snorts. He doesn’t turn to look at Yuri. “You can’t walk into my room after months of not talking to me and demand answers, Yuri.”

Yuri is impatient and rash, he knows that very well, but there’s still something that doesn’t fit in all of it. There’s a piece from the puzzle he can’t find, a piece that might be larger than he thought. He crosses his arms in front of him and scoffs. “I clearly can and I am.” He makes his voice firmer, more demanding. “I want to know.”

Otabek sighs, pulling his laptop off of him and turning to face Yuri. He looks up and there’s a hint of annoyance, of exasperation on his usual blank stare; Yuri’s wondering whether he’s imagining it or if he hasn’t yet forgotten how to read his friend. His friend? His whatever Otabek is to him. The man still pulls the same expressions he always has: at least that part seems real. “Can’t you just get for once that this is not about you?”

Yuri stomps his feet on the floor, pulling his arms to his sides. “You’re making it about me by pushing me out!” He realizes he’s yelling by the time he shuts up and the silence envelops them again, swallowing them whole for a second. Two. He looks up, his mouth twitching upwards out of sheer irritation. “Fuck, how is it that much easier to you to fuck people in public bathrooms than to just fucking  _ talk to me _ ?”

“Because I wanted to.” Otabek answers in a deadpan, yet Yuri sees he’s clenching his teeth, his hands curling into fists by his side. “You wanted to, too. It was different then, that…” He pauses to find the words, to get some air that doesn’t seem to be reaching his lungs. Yuri can see the same dark glint in his eyes Katsuki has when he’s about to break. He’s fucked up. “It’s just… I didn’t-” Otabek runs his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself down, but Yuri can already notice the panic in his eyes, can  _ hear _ him gasping for air, as if the world would be tightening around him. “I was alone, I couldn’t just…” He pulls his knees up to hold them closer to his body, closing in on himself. Yuri wouldn’t be able to hear his voice if it weren’t for it going a whole octave higher, breaking as if every word was ripping him part in order to come out, “I was scared, I was…” A hand grips on his hair tight enough Yuri sees the knuckles turning white. He winces out of sympathy, stopping himself from pulling it off. “I was fourteen for fuck’s sake! What else was there to do? They’ve…-” 

Yuri reaches out and feels Otabek’s body trembling at the touch of his fingers, flinching. He looks desperately around the room for something, anything, that can pull the man back into reality. If this things happen he  _ has  _ to have something; Yuri has his bracelet as a token just as Katsuki has his ring, and makes it spin on his finger when he’s stressed. But what the hell could Otabek do when-?

Otabek barely lifts his gaze when he feels the touch a soft furry something pressed against his hand, still twined in his hair. He lets the hand fall, patting the head of the plush bear in front of him: it’s well worn and resewn in places,and it smells of closed spaces and dust. He really needs to wash it more often. Yet he doesn’t flinch when the bear nuzzles against his nose. 

“It’s different from the others.” He hears Yuri say behind the doll. “Older.” He still doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t say a word. “I won’t… I won’t push it anymore, okay? I didn’t know.” The bear moves back and then forward again, as if to kiss the tip of Otabek’s nose. “Please?”

“Mh.“ Otabek takes the teddy from the boy’s hands to hold him dearly against his chest. He lowers his legs, still covering most of his face with the bear. Yuri, keeling on the floor right in front of the edge of the bed, has to hold back a sigh at the sight: how can he be  _ so adorable? _ ”It is. One of the first. This little guy,” Otabek turns the bear to himself and stares at it as if the conversation was with him and not Yuri, “was already with me by the time I met you. At Yakov’s camp.” He bites his lip yet smiles anyways, his eyes glistening under the soft veil of unshed tears still there. “It was Zhamila’s. She insisted I take it with me.” He chuckles fondly and something inside Yuri grows warm, fluttery and spreading all throughout his body. He feel the need to reach out and hug Otabek. He doesn’t, just in case. “It’s a big deal for a seven year old to let one of his favourites go.” Otabek lets his lips fall onto the bear’s forehead for a second. He rises up again, this time looking at Yuri. “How did you find it?”

Yuri shrugs, trying to shake away the awkwardness in him as he notices he’s been staring doe eyed, a flush creeping into his cheeks, even holding his breath. He got concerned and jumped to the oldest thing he could find. He’s just relieved it worked. “It looked important, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head while looking something to look at that’s not this stupidly beautiful guy half naked and holding a fluffy teddy bear to his chest, trying to pull out the words. “I’m, um….” Sigh. “I won’t push it, okay? Just…” Why is it so damn hard? “I mean-”

Otabek chuckles, despite the shadow still on his gaze. Yuri’s stunned by the way he can be so incredibly expressive sometimes, as if all veils and masks and shitty habits suddenly vanish and it’s only him and his demons, all of him, just there for the take. “Apology accepted.” Otabek leans forward and presses the bear right to Yuri’s lips. “I knew you were a dick already, anyways.”

Yuri growls yet doesn't reply. He’s put Otabek on edge for a fucking whim, after all. He does want to know, even more when it’s something so important Otabek is literally incapable of talking about it. Mila was right, he should have listened, he should have known. He thought of going back to his room, bury himself under the covers and never get out again, fuck the podium, fuck the plane, fuck the rink. He couldn’t even speak about it with anyone, ask for help; he’s made them hate Otabek because he was an idiot. And a little bit of a whiny bitch. He should have known, how couldn’t he not notice?

“Yura?” He looks up to see Otabek’s worried gaze on his. “Is everything alright?”

Yes, it is. Of course it is. He just needs to run off and disappear and smother this feeling of inadequacy, of failure. He hasn’t come here to hurt him, why can’t he just stop? He needs to get out, he needs… “Can I stay here tonight?”

Otabek sits the bear on the pillow by his side, then turns back to Yuri, a smiles on his lips but a heavy burden on his brow. “Yakov is gonna terminate my career if he finds you here.” Yuri fidgets. “Viktor is gonna break my legs?” 

“Viktor is full of shit.” Yuri tries to cut the tension on the room but Otabek barely snorts at the comment. He shouldn’t have asked, he’s just sinking them both deeper into trouble. He should just go back. 

“Still…” Otabek reaches out to brush Yuri’s chin with his fingers, holding him in place as he speaks. “Ask me again.” Yuri’s about to pull off but the hand on his jaw doesn’t budge. “Please play along?” He pulls the hand away.

Yuri sighs. Kneels up, back completely straight. Takes a deep breath. Why the fuck is he doing this? He knows his answer already. “Beka, can I-”

“Yes.”

“What?” Yuri widens his eyes. Otabek must have meant something else. Right? Yet he just chuckles, laughs at Yuri’s face.

“You can stay, of course.” He laughs and looks down trying to find the words. He decides to just let it be and go for the laptop again, stretching himself on his stomach on the bed, feet propped up on the headboard. He types in and the screen shines bright. “You’ll have to leave before they go looking for you in the morning,  though.”

“Huh?” Yuri feels his throat go dry as he takes in the vision in front of him; his eyes wandering slowly from the curve of his legs to the slope of his ass, hardly hidden under the supposedly baggy pants, hanging now most definitely way too low, to the hint of barely lighter skin showing off from above his waistband, to the chiseled muscles on his back, reacting at every motion, arching from his position, leaning on his elbows, the sharp line of his collarbones and the full lips, the dark stare glued to his own. Fuck. How long has Yuri been staring? Was it two seconds or two hours? Shit. He needs to pull his fucking shit together. 

“Are you coming or are you just gonna keep checking me out?” 

Yuri choked on air suddenly. Since when did Otabek ‘too cool for even smiling the fuck back’ Altin become  _ that _ flirty? Then again, he can’t say he doesn’t like it. He rushes to his feet, takes the bear in his arms and drops himself on his stomach next to Otabek, who clutches the laptop for it not to bounce off the mattress, chuckling. “Well, what were you doing?”

Otabek takes his time to answer, enjoying the warmth of Yuri’s body so close to his own every inch of them from arm to toe are touching. He stares deep into Yuri’s eyes, licking his lips slowly, only to snap back to the screen as if he was caught doing something indecent, and Yuri is pretty sure there’s the faint trace of a blush on his face. “A playlist. For a... “ his finger dances on the mousepad, “birthday party or something, I think.” He fiddles around bright switches on the screen. “We can watch something, if you want.”

“Do you always spend time with people in your bed  _ working? _ ” Yuri winces at his own words. That sounds so terribly wrong. And he did not mean that, at all. Sure, he’s curious, but he wasn’t going to  _ ask _ . He hears snorting and scowls, about to complain. 

“I haven’t had many people in bed like this, Yura.” Pause. Yuri looks at the screen but doesn’t really understand much of it: it’s all just switches and wriggly lines syncing at the sound, nothing more. ”I’ve spent a lot of time like this with my roommate in the States though.” Otabek looks up as in contemplation. “He’s kind of a music junkie, so.” 

Yuri frowns deeper. So yeah, maybe Otabek had a sex life he wasn’t aware of, and apparently a pretty active one. It still shocks him but it’s not really his place to judge, right? They’re not  _ a thing _ after all. They’re just friends. Or trying to be, again. Or something. But where Otabek said ‘roommate’ Yuri couldn’t help but hear ‘ex’. Ex boyfriend, probably, if it was the guy who took him under his wing after the whole ‘breaking into the rink’ incident. He just said they  _ have _ shared a bed, didn’t he? 

Yuri’s brain is working out so many possibilities, one worse than the other that he can feel actual smoke coming out of his ears at some point. He decides the worst he can do is keep on feeding his own crazy ideas. “You said the guy who took you in was a skater. Who was he?” He gulped. Is he allowed to ask that or is it part of what Otabek doesn’t talk about?

“Leo. You know him. He ended up right after you on the score.” 

Yuri chokes. Again. Breathing is gonna be a problem tonight. “De La Iglesia?? The sunshine kid that’s always smiling and back to back with Chulanont and…. The little one?”

Otabek hesitates for a second. “He does smile a lot, doesn’t he?” He goes back to his work. “Wanna listen?” 

Yuri turns to lie on his back, still holding the plushie over his chest with one arm. “Whatever. Play.” He’ll talk to De la Iglesia soon enough. Just to check, nothing more. It’s not like he’s jealous of the guy, how could he? He doesn’t even know him. 

A remix of something he already feels familiar (is that Sonic Youth?) starts playing and he closes his eyes to feel the beat right into his bones. He opens them moments later to find Otabek resting his head on one of his hands, watching him. Yuri is about to yell at him, but he’s too slow.

“You know, you’ve been a real dick today.”

Yuri pushes the plushie closer to his face, trying to hide the embarrassment, but doesn’t answer. He knows that already. It was stupid and childish, and he tried to say sorry. In his own way. He feels Otabek looming over him, and a second long chaste kiss on his forehead. 

Otabek goes back to stare at the screen, his last words in a timid small voice and a grin too strong to be hidden. “But I’m glad you came by.”

Yuri flushes bright red; suddenly the room feels too hot, too clammy. “You’re an idiot, Beka.” He almost whines under the furry back of the teddy. He’s not a hopeless sap like that, to say that kind of shit without so much as a warning. As if his heart was about to explode if he didn’t.

He most definitely isn’t. 


	6. Chapter 6

Yuri doesn’t want to be here.

It’s the first podium during his career as a Senior that he has to look from the outside. Yuri most certainly does not want to be there, sitting on the bleachers while Katsuki and Viktor suck on each other’s faces (what’s the need? There are hundreds of cameras, for fuck’s sake!) disgracing the medals on their necks. At least Viktor is retiring so they won’t have a chance to do that ever again. It’s so fucking disgusting. Otabek at the very least still stands like a soldier on guard, straight up and stoic as ever, the silver hanging around his neck. A true medal of honor on him. Yuri can’t help but imagine Otabek would smile to him if he was in that podium with him. 

Yuri kicks on the ground and huffs in indignation. He wouldn’t have made such an awful display if he was there. He should be there. What the fuck happened to him?

Right. Puberty happened. And his jumps became sloppy and under rotated and just plain  _ shitty. _ He managed to keep place on the podium on the GPF but he still loses too much energy trying to restore his center of gravity mid jump, not used to his own height anymore. He’s out of breath by the time the second half of his programs come along. No matter how much he bitches to Yakov and Lilia about not reducing the difficulty on his performances Yuri knows he just can’t put up with it anymore.

Yet. he can’t put up with it yet. But he will again. He’ll be back on that damn podium again, that one and all the others to come. Side by side with Otabek, and Katsuki or whoever. But he will be there. They can just wait and see. And not even wait too much. Because Yuri will come back up and kick all of their asses back down on the podium, snatching the gold for himself; he’s sure of it. It’s all just a fucking long setback. But he can make it better.

The second he gets back into the rink he’ll make it better. He won’t let them take  _ his place.  _

He sighs out loud out of frustration, and leans forward on his seat. He hates this, having to stay away from the action. He hates having been so into his own shit, his own insecurity he couldn’t even skate properly. The one thing he knows how to do. More than relating to others, or answering to the press politely or, shit, fucking selfies. Even that he can’t do as well anymore: Chulanont became somehow the unofficial photographer in every event, being so friendly with everyone he always ends up invited. He didn’t even qualify for World’s and yet, there he is, with De La Iglesia by his side and….

Right. He almost forgot. He needs to have a word with that guy, doesn’t he? 

Yuri walks slowly through the crowd, hood up as if people wouldn’t recognize him by his quite notorious team jacket, his hair thrown over his shoulder. He stands right behind the sunshine couple, listening intently. Two minutes into their conversation, he decides it was a dumb idea. These must be two of the dullest people he could ever find, only talking of Japanese restaurants where to go afterwards and Instagram, and some other, Yuri assumes, guy that isn’t with them at this moment. Sure, that might be the exact conversation he could have been having with Mila or Otabek any idea, plus the new discovery of the ‘back of the cop car’ anecdotes; but they sound so lame on these two’s voices. This is a stupid idea. Why would the American guy just go and gush out all of this shit Otabek has never even said to  _ him _ in the first place? If there’s someone he knows about Altin is that he doesn’t trust in complete morons. The boy does looks kind of like an idiot, but it can’t possibly be that dense. 

“Weird that Yurio didn’t make it, isn’t it?” 

He straightens up at the mention of his name, no, that shitty nickname by Chulanont. Maybe De La Iglesia hasn’t said a thing, yet-

“Well… He was struggling last year too. But he fell hard this time; I could feel that blow on my own hip after his jump.”  _ No you couldn’t you fuck. Stop trying to be charming, you’re making me vomit.  _  Yuri pulls a disgusted face without even noticing. Is that Otabek’s friend? That is fucking disappointing. Another silly kid that thinks his pity would do any good. 

“I’m honestly just surprised they weren’t any news of damages on the hotel or anything.” Chulanont giggles and Leo follows. There’s a weird stillness on his eyes, something odd, out of place. He’s faking it, Yuri reckons. De La Iglesia doesn’t like him being put down. Or he actually knows something. 

Yuri remembers the details after his free skate perfectly. There isn’t much to know. He wants to believe Otabek would have never told him the one thing that could be somehow relevant. He wouldn’t be capable of saying such a thing. Isn’t it supposed to be impolite or some shit? 

Yet Yuri did tell Mila. Much more than he intended to. But Mila was like his older sister, it doesn’t count as this guy does. Right? Otabek has siblings for that. 

Then it dawns on him. Would he tell Aika he....? He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. There’s no way. Yuri feels his face one degree away from melting off his skull and flinches inside the collar of his hoodie that’s not as high as he needs right now. The Thai boy is now practically shaking his friend now, trying to get something out of him. 

“Come on, Yurio wouldn’t just  _ sit tight and take it _ , would he?” Yuri thinks of a little thing or two he has for the bastard to take, his fists trembling in his pockets. 

“Maybe he’s found something to do, y’know.” That's it: the guy knows. Yuri grits his teeth. Did Otabek actually told him, the fucker? Was he fucking  _ bragging _ ? He’s gonna hear about this. “Since he went out with Yuuri and all the day before. Maybe he took him out again?”

Otabek hasn’t had the chance to tell him that. In fact, he shouldn’t know that: all Yuri told him about the bracelet was that it was new. Unless, of course, he has actually seen him that night at the park, while hugging… Someone. Yuri feels the bile crawling up his throat and swallows hard. It doesn’t matter, he’ll get to talk about all of it in due time, not now. Just not now. Focus. 

He won’t focus if he keeps listening to the two idiots babbling. He waits for them to break part the seemingly too interesting conversation so he can take De La Iglesia by his arm and drag him out and along the corridor past an empty corner. He finally lets the man go, shoving him against the wall. 

“Hey, dude, chill.” Yuri is already getting exasperated by the calmness this guy irradiates, rubbing his arm like nothing had happened, like he hasn’t been just practically kidnapped off the bleachers. It’s like Yuri could step on his head and he still wouldn’t get pissed. What kind of people are ever so peaceful? It makes him wanna gag. Or punch him. He’s not doing either. 

“What do you know?” Yuri wants to do this quickly and silently. He has no intentions of becoming close pals with someone like him. And he definitely does not feel like having to explain this little reunion to anyone, much less to Katsudon’s ‘way too loud mouthed and addicted to document everything’ best friend. He needs this to be quick. 

“I’m sorry, Yuri, you’ll have to be specific.” says the boy with a smile on his face. Why this guy is always so happy is beyond Yuri. He’s not finding out now. 

“You know, about,” about  _ us _ ? No, they’re not together, not really. It doesn't work. About the bathroom incident? Isn’t that a bit obvious? Damn it. “About Beka and me. Spill.”

“Well…” Leo starts and takes a few deep breaths before looking around the hallway, making sure no one is about to jump in on them. “I don’t know what happened exactly, okay? All I know is that you stopped talking to him, he didn’t tell me why, and he was, you know.”

“I don’t know. I am asking.” Yuri scowls at him, picking up the toughest bad boy stance he can put up, shoulders pulled back and taking advantage on the height he’s picked up over the years. 

However, the supposedly intimidated victim, giggles. “He texted me like,  _ bad _ , but bad bad, and y’know, I took him out when I got here ‘cause you weren’t in the picture anymore and he was down, so-”

“So?!” Yuri’s at the edge of his patience now. The guy seriously talks a lot to not say anything. Does he know about  _ the thing  _ or not? He clearly understands why Otabek trusts him, though. Leo could never say anything in simple, short sentences; anyone would get too bored before extracting any type of intel from him. The thought of him and Otabek having some sort of date, or worse, a  _ night out _ , seeing how those might end up in hungry sloppy kisses and sinful acts on a darkened corner, makes Yuri’s stomach twist on itself. “What happened?”

“We went to the park and talked? And listened to music, as we do?” Leo stares at him as if he were a rabbit blinded by the truck lights. Something in him shouts danger but in all honesty he only looks confused. 

Yuri suddenly remembers the figure in the shadow. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. Of course, who else could it be? “You were cuddling him in that park, I remember you!” 

Leo just laughs. “Cuddling is saying a bit much, isn’t it?” He grins as if it’s the funniest shit in existence and Yuri just can’t see the joke in it. He’s starting to get really pissed now. “Wait, you were there? Thank Heavens, man.” It’s Yuri’s turn to look dumbfounded now, although honestly he’s caught around half of Leo’s blabbery at most so far. “I thought Beks was having a meltdown and started to hallucinate your face. Good thing to know he wasn’t out of it.” Leo scratches the back of his head, grinning like an idiot.

Yuri can’t help but smile back. Why, he has no idea. Maybe Leo’s cheerfulness is contagious. Maybe it’s the warm fluttery sensation in his belly at the thought of Otabek missing him enough to see him in every corner, although kind of creepy, makes him feel somehow special. Needed. He did miss Yuri, after all. He wasn’t just picking up and fucking random strangers. 

It doesn’t really make the whole picking up and fucking random strangers thing lighter, but Otabek did not forget about him all this time. And that must mean something. This time Yuri’s positive it does. Yet he still has to ask one last thing. The toughest question on his list. 

“Have you ever fucked him?”

“What?” Leo’s stunned; he drops the cellphone he just took out of his pocket, eyes wide and unable to move from the place. Yuri expects the insult, the storming off. The yes. The yes would destroy him; this is not a random dude, this is his  _ friend _ . He can’t possibly compete with that- He shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to compete for. He doesn’t  _ need _ Otabek to be exclusively his, does he? It’s just lust and nothing more. Yuri just happens to be friends with a stupidly hot guy who knows how to use his tongue, that’s all. Perfectly normal. He does not compete for his attention. At all.

That’s not what he’s doing right now, intimidating a possible ex boyfriend of his so-not-crush. “You heard me.” He straight up his back, puffing out his chest to try sand look more menacing. “Have you fucked him?”

Then it comes. The laughter. Leo is laughing. But not giggling like an idiot like before, full on belly-clutching, folded on himself laughing. He’s fucking tearing, for fuck’s sake! “Did you.. Did you just…?” The guy can barely breathe, much less talk through the cackling. Yuri’s hissing, about to punch Leo’s head through the wall. “Did you just drag me out because  _ you’re jealous? _ God, you’re so cute.” 

That does it. Yuri shoves Leo against the wall holding him under his palm right on his neck, yet not doing much pressure. “Listen, you piece of sh-”

“You’re one piece of work, aren’t you?” Leo raises his hands to wash off the tears still on his eye. “I can see why he likes you: he never liked to have it easy.” Yuri pushes his hand a bit against Leo’s throat and he raises his hands in defeat. “Not my type, really. Sorry to disappoint?” And that damn smile that just won’t leave his face. “He’s got a type too, you see. I don’t fit in that either.” He chuckles again and Yuri feels the rumble under his hand. 

He lets him go, letting him brush his neck and pick up his phone abandoned on the floor to meet Chulanont again. Yuri leans against the wall, in the exact same spot Leo was resting before. Runs a hand through his hair, pulling his hood down in the process.

_ He likes me? _

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri retires to his room for the rest of the ceremony: he’d have wanted to see the exhibition performances but something inside of him breaks every time he thinks about how he’s  _ not there on the ice. _ He failed himself, and his grandfather, and his coaches. He can’t stand it, he can’t stay. 

He jumps onto his bed and shuffles around Instagram for good measure. He still doesn’t really understand why he keeps following Chulanont, the guy is unbearably active. There are dozens of new posts, about Viktor and Katsudon’s pair skate (Of course, the big idiot is saying goodbye to the ice in the most pompous way possible), photos of the podium, of Otabek gliding through the ice readying for a triple Axel, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yuri will never tell the Thai skater how thankful he is for his high definition phone camera that let him see every crease on Otabek’s expression, every fold of his costume falling tight against the muscles on his chest. 

He must have been staring at that picture forever because he notices the message request on his inbox some good ten minutes after it was sent. It better not be some other psycho Angel or he’s gonna lose it, interrupting his… alone time? He must surely wishes he wasn’t so alone, his mind still going back to the warmth breath on his skin, enveloping him, taking him whole. 

No. Stop. Yuri needs to answer, or at least read whatever this incredibly well timed stranger has to say at this particular moment. Now that the pictures and videos of the Free Skate has leaked. And a theory about it being about Yuri started circulating. Seriously, it’s amazing how fast rumours can spread and grow. 

It’s not a stranger, though. Yuri wonders why would Leo contact him after he (tried to, clearly didn’t do that good of a job) intimidated him on an empty hallway. The guy’s logic baffles him. It’s a pretty short text, so Yuri figures he has nothing to lose: it’s from someone apparently important to the guy he’s trying to get to know. Again. 

< _ in for some tbt? _

Yuri can almost feel the mocking laughter in his ears. It’s gonna be some competition photo or something, for sure, and Yuri would have walked right into the trap like an idiot. He shouldn’t bite the bait so easily. Otabek doesn’t have many pictures posted anyways, and Yuri is completely, absolutely sure Leo is in none of them. There can’t possibly be any photos worth seeing. 

Yet. humans are curious creatures, aren’t they?

> _ its not even thursday _

The next message takes a while to get through. When it does, Yuri realizes it’s because there’s a photo in it. He barely looks at the text, mesmerized by the couple lounging on a couch as if they were inseparable. Best friends. Maybe lovers?

_ < imagine it is _

A young Leo sits on the right corner, clearly snapping the photo, his hair loosely hanging from a messy ponytail that could have been done the day before and slept on. His legs extend all the way to the left and up the armrest, hovering over a young, tired Otabek, one arm stretched over the back of the couch and hanging out of it and the other propped up so he can rest his cheek on his fist. His dark half lidded gaze stares to the camera not as hard as Yuri’s used to; a gleam shining on the edge of his lips. Yuri opens the picture, zooms it in (he’ll never confess doing such a thing, ever.) yet the camera flash bounces right at Otabek’s mouth and he can’t see what’s there. He can’t think of more than one possibility, to be completely fair, but he refuses to ask. He refuses to let the guy know that if this is his idea of a game Yuri’s definitely lost in the first round. 

He won’t ask. He won’t. He’s not that weak. 

His fingers hovers over the text messaging app. He won’t, he’s stronger than this.

Yet he  _ can _ ask anything, right?

Someone’s at the door. Yuri lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Hey, Kitten.” He’s not even surprised to find Mila when he opens the door. They haven’t said a thing about  _ the issue _ since yesterday, seeing how the rest of the Russian team is always clinging around them. Yuri doesn’t want to risk it and text her in public again; someone might read it over her shoulder. Or worse, she might say something. Out loud. Again. “So, how did it go?”

“Tch.” He walks off and back into the bed, knowing well she’ll follow him. “I fucked up. But things are good now, I guess.”

Mila lies down on his stomach on the mattress, lifting up her legs behind her, while Yuri sits and stretches his legs as far as he can, grabbing is phone back from under the covers. “So it was a big thing?”

“Yeah. He didn’t tell me.” He feels his voice growing lower and straightens up his back, as if it’d somehow make the remorse still within him fade. He doesn’t need to take his eyes off his phone to know Mila’s looking at him like he was a puppy lost under the rain. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“How’s he, then?”

“He looked fine. Afterwards.” He sounds hesitant, he knows, tries to shake the feeling off. He was smiling after all. He kissed Yuri, after all. Without being asked. Or dared to. Without any anger or violence, or sheer lust. Just this sweet touch of his lips against Yuri’s forehead; no demands in the middle, no compromises. No secrets to be unshed. Just them, both somehow scarred and trembling, close enough to rely on each other. To not let each other fall. 

That’s what he was talking about, isn’t it? About being alike. Yuri couldn’t see it then, drowned in the mystic of Otabek’s ways; the bike, the calm nature, the always correct manners and the way he just shrugged his concerns off like they were mere shit talk behind his back. He never even blinked at the name of “dark horse”, yet Yuri always felt his blood boil when he heard it. Now he gets it: Otabek isn’t loud and impetuous, he’s doesn’t show off his wounds bleeding for the world to see and lets them heal against someone’s face. No, he’s quiet: he faces his own ghosts in between solitary night drowned in flickering lights and music too loud to hear himself think. Yuri fights every battle: Otabek endures every blow. But they both keep on pushing. They walk two completely different paths, but they walk them just the same: head up high, proud and constant. There’s no pit they cannot jump over, no obstacle they can’t cross. Not as long as they have each other. 

Yuri will make sure they’ll always have each other. 

* * *

 

 

“Yuri?” 

“Huh?”

“You spaced out again.” He blinks rapidly and glances at Mila, who looks at him with concern in her eyes. 

“Yeah, wasn’t listening” 

“I said, ‘after what?’”  This time he blinks purely out of confusion. Yet, knowing Mila, he shouldn’t ask. Not when he knows she’ll tell him anyways. But especially not when she practically jumps off her stomach and onto her knees like that,  _ eager _ , That’s never a good thing.  “Did he try to make things better again?”

“What do-” Yuri widens his eyes. Of course, what else would she be talking about? “God, Mila, no!  _ I _ fucked up. Not him.”

Mila looks at him, eyes wide and mouth exaggeratedly open, a hand covering it a silly soap opera like gesture. “Then did you-?”

“Jesus, Baba!”She barely reacts before the pillow collides to her face. “Get a fucking grip!”

“Joking! I’m joking, relax!” She giggles against the pillow, shielding herself in case Yuri decides to use the other as a weapon. He just glares at her, flushed beet red as she gets up and pace around the room. “We have work to do anyways.”

“Huh?” Yuri lets his feet fall to the floor at the side of the bed, while she leans into his luggage. “Oi, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Mila smiles, holding some dark fabric close to her chest. “I’m gonna get you ready for tonight, of course.” She uncovers that Cheshire grin of hers as she moves forward. “You don’t want to show up next to the World’s silver medalist looking like a downtown ‘trying too hard to be classy’ waiter, don’t you?”

Yuri huffs and gets up from the bed, abandoning his phone somewhere over the mess of sheets, all knotted together.”Watch it, Baba. I’m not going out there looking like some nightclub  gogo dancer or something.”

Mila snickers while taking out some clothes and throwing them unceremoniously on the mattress. “Oh?” She turns to him and winks. “Why? Did you want to?”

“Shit, no, Baba!” He stops by the full body mirror on the closet door, still on his hoodie (his team jacket had been shed and thrown off somewhere across the floor), a mane of golden bangs sticking in every direction on his head and a scowl on his face. He probably does need some help. “I wanna look nice, not…. Trying too hard.” He scoffs and looks at her through the mirror. “You think I could? Like-”

“He lets her approach to put both hands on his shoulders and murmur into his ear. “You’ll be the most badass breathtaking gentleman in the whole fucking party.” He turns to her and finds refuge in her candid smile. “I promise.” She pushes away. “But that thing you call hair is a disaster, so,” Mila walks back to the door. “Take a shower, and i’ll be here… about two hours before the date? And I’ll make a heartthrob out of you.” She winks one more time, clicking her tongue for good measure, while Yuri tries to pull out the knots in his hair. “See ya tonight, Kitten!” 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a good hour and the some. And some tedious brushing. And pain; there was also a bit of that. But Yuri suddenly stops breathing out of amazement when he sees his own reflection in the mirror: a part of his head pulled up and back from the top of his head on a tight braid, a wide strand of each side tugged back and into it to let his face completely uncovered. Half of his hair still loose, brushed in waves, underneath the braid on top of [it](http://images.bobitbeauty.com/post/S3-white-blonde-shelley.JPG) [. ](http://images.bobitbeauty.com/post/S3-white-blonde-shelley.JPG)It looks elegant. It looks badass. It looks mesmerizing. And difficult. 

“You could do this for a living after the skating, you know?” He says to Mila, who’s adjusting the too deep faux leather neckline of her [dress](http://mvhsoracle.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/edgy.jpg) [,](http://mvhsoracle.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/edgy.jpg) clashing deep blue against the bright red of her hair. 

“Did I do well enough to get the little kitty’s praise?” She leans on Yuri’s shoulder, the dreaded liquid eyeliner on her hand. 

“Come on, Mila, it’s a formal thing..” Yuri starts to protest, yet she grabs his jaw with one hands, staring deep into his eyes. 

“Let me do this. Remember, I could do it for a living”. She smirks.

Something inside of Yuri trembles.

 

Although it’s not so bad. The thin deep black line around his eyes is only noticeable enough to make his gaze look darker, yet not bold enough to call someone’s attention. He grabs his black vest by the lapels, staring at his reflection this way and that. It’s not bad at all. The sleeves of his yellow dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and the daring braid give him an intimidating air. He could pull it off. Definitely.

He feels her hands falling onto his shoulders again. “So, ready to sweep your bad boy off his feet?”

More than that. He feels he could face anything. The whole prospect of having Viktor and Otabek in the same room might be terrifying, but he knows he has enough people on his side of the field now. “Please. I could take the whole Gale to bed if I wanted.”

She smiles and pats his shoulders, straightening up. “That’s my boy. Now,” she offers him her arm. “ Let’s get them, Tiger.”

 

They meet Viktor and Katsuki on the hallways, along with the coaches. Yuri can’t think of anything to say to shrug them off; Viktor’s smile tells him something is gonna happen tonight. He’s already regretting his decision of doing so much as showing up, but he won’t back down now. He can do this. Mila tightens her grip on his arm, as a way of calming him down. He goes back to his now habit, snapping the bracelet against the skin of his wrist. It’ll be fine. Snap. He can do this. Snap. Viktor can’t possibly fuck it up so badly. Snap. 

What if he can. Snap. He’s retiring after all. Snap. Why would he care?

“That’s one…. Interesting style, Yurio.” Viktor tries to sound nice. Yuri hears smugness and a tint of ‘I know what you’re trying to pull off.’ He doesn’t yield.

“Yeah, Mila is good with this, isn't she?” he runs a hand through the loose bangs on his shoulder. Mila just grins at Viktor, waiting for the obligatory compliment.

“Yes. Good job, Mila.” Viktor says politely, yet not too amused. She takes a mocking vow. 

Yuri might feel threatened, but Mila’s most certainly good at this game. He should have gone to her a lot sooner. 

The moment they arrive to the Gala, they stick together as a block. Viktor calls the waiter to get champagne for each one of one, yet Yakov and Lilia dismiss the glasses, walking off to find some actual sits. They’re too old for these things, as Yakov says. 

Yuri takes advantage of the completely boring small talk to look around him. He finds exactly who he’s looking for at the other side of the room, fairly near the bar. Otabek stands there talking lightly with Leo, not bothering to show one ounce of emotion on his face. Of course. Yuri can stop himself from take in the vision that Altin is: tight dress pants that show off his ass and a tight blue dress shirt, its two first buttons undone and hanging close to his skin due to the heavy heating in the room. He must have been here from the start; for some reason he’s always early. He looks up to see Otabek’s glance fixate on his, then taking in all of him. Otabek licks his lips, raising a brow and Yuri feels the extreme heating does no favors to the fever growing on his skin. He tries to hide the nervous smile , biting his lips but when he turns his gaze from the ground he sees him. Viktor’s staring right at the bar. No, not at the bar. At  _ him. _ Shit. 

Yuri doesn’t even react when he sees viktor exchanging some apparently polite words with Otabek. It clicks right when he sees Viktor practically dragging Otabek out by his arm in a not so polite way. Leo follows at a safe distance. 

Shit. 

He tries to find Mila, to get some advice, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She’s probably or already off with someone. Snap. Shit. Snap. He should have it coming. Don’t panic. Snap. Keep it together. Snap. Shitshitshit. Snap. He follows. 

“... so you better stay away because I won’t allow him to end up in any way like  _ you.”  _ Viktor’s keeping his irritating smug stance, towering over Otabek, practically trapping him between his body and the wall, barely a few steps away from the party. This is anything but smart. Shit. Otabek just stares (glares, maybe?) at him, impassive. His thumb stuck on the waistband of his trousers. He says nothing, and Yuri knows is the smart thing to do, but something roars and burns inside him and, well, he was never one of much impulse control. 

“Like him how? With a medal around my neck? ‘Cause I clearly don’t have one now.” Yuri stands besides his friend, glaring defiantly at Viktor. 

Viktor shakes his head, his lips barely twitching upwards. Yuri knows that’s sarcasm. “More like ‘in jail’. He’s a bad influence, Yuri. You know that.”

“How dare you?!” Yuri knows his voice can be easily heard from the banquet, people might be trying to listen to their talk now, but he doesn’t give a hist about them now. He never really did. He’s not into the sprt for the sponsors or the cardboards or.. Fuck, to end up like Viktor, all fake grins and cynicism. “You think you’re so much better? You’re so full of shit. you‘ve done anything you’ve wanted with your life; you’ve fucking ran to Japan on a fucking whim! For a drunkard! Not that he has the fault of falling in love with someone as fake as  _ you-” _

No, Yura.” He feels a hand on his shoulder and stops. Otabek’s looking straight at Viktor the whole time, yet his touch is somehow reassuring. “He’s right; I’m a bad influence. I’ve been in jail. Can’t deny that. Can’t say I regret the things I did, either. Do you know  _ why  _ I’ve been there, Viktor?”

Viktor chuckles lightly, rolling his eyes. “Would that make anything you’ve done better?”

“No.” Otabek pauses to make sure viktor looks at him straight in the eye. “It would make it honest.”

“Hey hey, come on now, guys.” Leo practically jump on Yuri’s shoulders, trying to ease the tension on the air. He pulls away the second after, yuri hissing and flinching at the unexpected touch. “We're all nice folks, why are we even fighting? Let’s just have a drink and make up?” 

Viktor is about to answer but goes silent when he hears Otabek chuckle. “You want to know what I’ve done?” He waits for Viktor to cross his arms in front of his chest, bringing a finger to his lips. “Let’s have that drink. And you get to ask anything you want. And so do I.”

It takes a moment for the thought to sink in, but Leo is the first to react. They’re  _ that _ close, apparently. “My room! It’s neutral ground, right? But I have nothing to drink, the minibar won’t do…” He exchanges a glance with Otabek and that’s all it takes. “You won’t. You  _ can't.  _ There’s like a ton of people there!” They can’t possibly be thinking of… Right? Otabek lifts a brow as in defiance, the smallest smug smile on his lips. “You can’t, man!”

Otabek looks up, then actually smirks. Yuri can practically hear Viktor’s gasp, watching as he is the mute conversation between the two skaters. “What if I can?”

Leo giggles, side eyeing the party that still goes on without two of their three champion. Nothing can stops people from partying, really. Not when there’s a free bar. For the people there. Not to take anything outside of the hall. “I don’t know, bring a Jaeger?” He grins, grabbing Yuri’s wrist. “Fifteen, my place?”

“Otabek smiles, his tongue dancing around the edge of his teeth and Yuri swears he’s  _ flirting _ . “Make it ten.”

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor sits on the floor, grinning politely, his suit jacket discarded on Leo’s bed; Yuri can almost hear his teeth gritting from where he’s sitting, next to him yet far enough to not feeling so incredibly trapped, as if the room were ten times smaller. Snap. Who is he kidding: he needs Otabek and he needs him now. Katsuki sits at the other side of his husband, drawing little circles on the back of his palm to relax him. He’s seen them leaving after the sudden fight on the Gala’s doorstep and wanted to come along, just to make sure no one’s getting hurt. Why was Chulanont right next to him Yuri doesn’t know, but at least Leo made a rule for the cellphones to be carefully packed away, so nothing said in the room can get out. The Thai boy pouted, sure, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Leo joins the round soon enough, after a brief knock on his door and a bottle being shoved onto his hands; he sits, slamming the green square bottle right onto the middle of the circle on the floor, and popping up some shot glasses while Otabek sits two clear bottles right next to the green one, to sit down at Yuri’s side. He doesn’t even turn to check the glare Viktor sends his way.

“Well!” Leo clasps his hands together, that dumb (and completely out of place, come on) smile back on his face, “let’s place some ‘Never Have I ever!’ good game to know each other, huh?”

Phichit practically squeals, throwing his arms over his head in excitement, Katsuki gulps. Viktor nods and Yuri can’t do anything but blushing deep red and hoping that no one ask about the  _ bathroom incident _ . He’s trying to mentally kick Mila for pulling all of his hair away from his face. Again. Damn it, he should have seen it coming. Everyone chooses his liquor of choice: Katsuki and Chulanont going for tequila while leo fils his and otabek’s glass with the black ooze. The Russians just stick to the stereotype and the Vodka. It seems safer on Yuri’s mind: at least he knows what he’s drinking. 

“So!” Leo’s voice makes yuri almost jump in the air. What’s with him that’s so exciting? “Since Viktor is a bit intrigued, let’s make him start, shall we? Then it’ll be Yuuri’s, okay?”

Viktor hums, bringing a finger to his mouth as if he were thinking. “Let’s start with ‘Never have I ever stolen alcohol.” 

Otabek raises his glass in a exaggerated toast, and Leo follows. They quickly down their shot when Chulanont chimes in: “Yuuri, you need to drink too!”

“WHAT?” The other three skaters stares dumbfoundedly at the Thai boy grinning at them, as if he suddenly grew another head. 

“You know, when we stole Celestino’s stash because you downed the whole rum bottle and got thirsty again?” Katsuki just stared open mouthed, while Viktor holds his hands tight. Whining. Actually whining like a wounded dog. Yuri doesn’t know if he should kick them or pity them but he definitely does not want to share a room with them any longer. Katsuki has no other choice but to drink his shot, wincing at the taste.

“Okay, my turn.” He waited for all glasses to be full again and adds, shyly. “Never have I ever gotten into a fistfight?” He immediately looks at his friend besides him. “I haven’t right?” Phichit shakes his head, laughing. 

The only one downing his glass is Otabek. Viktor stares, a smug look on his face and Yuri feels the sudden need to kick that smile off his face. The game continues. 

“Never have I ever… Um… Strip danced!” Katsuki chokes on his own spit and Viktor pats his back, chuckling. He’s the only one drinking. Something inside Yuri feels lighter. It’s not like Otabek would anyway, right? It’s just… He’s definitely got the moves for it. He shakes the thought away, earning a couple of glances his way. He feels a hand brushing the strand of hair that clutched onto his cheek away, and blushes at the lingering touch. His eyes meet Otabek’s. It feels like the world shuts off for a second, away from silly games, and booze, and nonsense fights: just them two and nothing else, his fingers still resting against Yuri’s jaw. He listens someone clearing his throat behind him (fucking Viktor) and Leo giggling at the interruption. 

“Well.. . Let’s see what I didn’t do!” Yuri’s stunned by the joy that seems to sparkle out of Leo. Is he always that… bubbly? “Never have I ever…  Left a restaurant without paying for my meal?”

Silence. Awkward coughs. A glass slamming, empty, on the floor. 

“Oh my God, love, why?” Katsuki sounds horrified at the thought of his beloved, notoriously wealthy, committing such a petty crime. 

“I don’t know, adrenaline? We were running late, anyways, it’s not like we could wait for the waitress to come back-” Viktor starts mumbling a series of apologies to his husband. And stops the second he hears a particular low chuckle. He looks out to see Otabek watching the display, smirking, lifting his brow and tilting his head. Bad influence, huh? The rest of the circle immediately starts laughing. Yuri must recognize the two giggly idiots were dull and all but they could ease the tension in a second. This game can get really interesting. 

Otabek speaks, clear and staring directly at Viktor. “Never have I ever verbally assaulted a fan.” The gasp when Viktor grabs his glass, pouting, is collective. Sure,    
Yuri has to drink as well, but this… This is glorious. The living fucking legend is as petty as anyone else. 

“To your health, geezer!” He snarks, and Viktor downs his drink right at the same time, pointing his empty glass at Otabek. 

“There is no way you could have known that!” 

Otabek chuckles, looks up, and stares blankly, never breaking eye contact while he speaks. “It’s impossible to forget, actually.” He takes a breath and Viktor flinches. “How the living legend, Nikiforov, childhood idol of multitudes,” Viktor tenses up as he he were in interrogation. Yuri is enjoying this oh so much. “Said such fowl, unrepeatable things to a little girl-”

“It was a tough day, okay?!” Viktor sounds almost on the verge of tears, but pulls himself together after a long sigh. “Everyone has bad days.”

“That girl surely had an awful one.” Otabek replies. The room is still in shock; Katsuki hanging on his husband arm, comforting him, while Chulanont looks desperately at the drawer where the phones are tucked in and back at the circle. Leo just stays there, watching, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

It’s Yuri’s turn and he has  _ nothing _ . He needs something that doesn’t incriminate him, something nasty but not filthy, otherwise it’s make the game turn for the worse and he cannot endure that. He doesn’t want to know what the old couple have been doing but he most certainly does not want  _ them _ to know about him either. There’s only one think he can think of. 

“Never have I ever pissed on the onsen!” They’ve all been there, some has to fall, right? 

Katsuki does. Of course he does, he’s been a kid around that onsen; kids do disgusting things like that. The real surprise is Chulanont, giggling and lifting his glass up. “To the Katsuki-Nikiforov wedding!” 

“Oh my God, Phichit! Seriously?” Leo shouts, a grin on his lips. “How drunk were you?” The boy only shrugs and chugs his drink. He giggles again. 

It’s Viktor’s turn. He hesitates, looking for something in Otabek’s eyes, by the way he’s glaring at him. “Never have I ever had an STD.”

“Really, Viktor? That’s low.” Otabek doesn’t even change his expression. No one drinks.Viktor sighs and gulps his glass. 

“I’m sorry but I can’t think of anything else,” Katsuki starts almost in a whisper. He pulls his shoulders backwards and continues, this time firmer and directing his gaze at an empty spot on the wall. “Never have I ever had sex with a girl.”

Leo drinks. Otabek drinks. Yuri can’t say he saw that one coming, yet says nothing. He knows Otabek was fooling around already; guys or girls don’t really make a difference, do they?

Chulanont goes on. “Never have I ever have a one night stand with a girl.. Or a guy. Or just whatever.” He giggles again; either he really is a lightweight, or he’s having the time of his life. Leo shrugs and drinks. Otabek drinks: of course he does. Viktor drinks and no one bats an eye. Yuri stares at the glass. Has he, really? That counts as sex, yes. They’re not really a thing, so it’s casual sex. But a one night stand? Once and pretending it didn’t happen afterwards? It’s not what he wants, not what he’s expecting of it, but how can he know if it isn’t what Otabek wants? Sure, Leo said he  _ likes  _ Yuri, but he could like him just for a quickie and that’s it. And this has never happened. Yuri lets his hand crawl on the cold floorboard. He feels a pressure, a warmth on his thigh: a hand squeezing him gently. He decides against it; pulls his hand back onto his lap. Otabek’s grip doesn’t yield. 

Leo’s turn, and the first thing he does is lifting up his glass. He stops and pulls it down, scratching the back of his head. He’s already wasted, isn’t he? “Never have I- wait, I did that. Um…” He looks at his sides and chooses his left to let himself fall, leaning against Otabek’s shoulder. Yuri’s disgust must have been too obvious since he suddenly feel the hand on his leg caressing him gently, up and down his thigh. There’s still a rumble on his chest but he shoves it down and buries it deep, even when Otabek pulls his arm around Leo’s shoulder to stop the boy from falling face first onto the floor. Leo’s starting to slur down the words, looking over his shoulder to whisper a bit too loud at his friend. “I don’t know. What haven’t we done, Beks?” He puts a finger against his lips and shout as if he just found out the meaning of life. “I know! Never have I ever confessed to my crush!” Otabek laughs against Leo’s hair. “‘Cause we’re cowards!” Viktor and Yuuri drink, of course. Leo lets out a sigh. “We should drink on that, though.”

“That’s lame, Leo. We’re not drinking on that.” Otabek replies in a somehow soothing voice. “Are you sure you want to keep on playing?” Leo huffs and pouts, crossing his arms around his chest. “Fine, then.” Otabek looks around to see Viktor already caressing Katsuki’s hair, whispering something on his hair. Something not meant to be said in public, by his husband’s bright red cheeks. “Never have I ever fondled my significant other in public.” 

Leo lifts up a wobbly finger in protest. “Significant other means actual lovers, not like, just hot people, right?” Otabek nods, close enough to his head for him to get the point. Yuri knows they’re just friends. Just friends. Really close friends. Really  _ touchy _ friends. But nothing more than that. He hears himself hissing and blames it on the alcohol, even when he hasn’t drank much at this point. Viktor and Katsuki drink, of course, and the former smooches the latter’s cheek so noisily Yuri actually gags at them. 

It’s his turn, and he wants to find a way to ask. He gets none, yet he remembers a little thing he’s been curious about. “Never have I ever had a piercing.” 

He feels the stunned looks of his friend, drilling into his skin. Leo chuckles, lifting up a fist in triumph. Yuri knows it was a lost battle anyways. He keeps eye contact with Otabek, who let a small side smile show before emptying his shot. Yet he’s not done. “Do you really wanna know?” Yuri nods, never daring to look away to check on whatever Viktor might be thinking about all this. He realizes he can feel Otabek’s charged, minty breath on his face; tries to dismiss it. “Say a number.” Now Yuri blinks. “Guess. How many?” It can’t be one, by the question: he wouldn’t make it so easy. Yet there couldn’t have been many: Yuri should have noticed at some point.”Go on, Yura.”

“Three.”

“No. Drink up.” Otabek pushes Yuri’s glass closer to him and Yuri pouts, still drinking it whole. He says nothing about the way Otabek runs his teeth to his lower lip, hungrily, before turning to Viktor. “What’s your guess?”

“Umm…” Viktor drapes himself over his husband, “maybe five?” 

“No. Drink up.” Viktor scoffs and downs his drink. He’s already wobbly and taking off his dress shirt, to the horror of Katsuki. “You?”

“Two.” 

“No. Drink up.” Katsudon freezes for a second. This game is gonna spiral down real quick if these two keep drinking like this. He obliges. “Phichit?”

“I know they were a lot. So, eight?” He adds a smile to the end of the sentence, yet it doesn’t help his case.

“No. Drink.” Otabek turns to the dazed idiot on his chest too whisper on his ear loud enough for everyone to hear. “If you don’t guess this one, Leo, I’ll be really offended.”

“Wait wait wait!” Leo throws his hands up in the air. “Um… let me count!” He starts pulling fingers up and down in a random order, while struggling to keep his arms up. “Seven!”

Otabek chuckles. Pats Leo’s head. “Good boy.” 

There’s a general screech, because the awful noise that come out of their mouths can’t be catalogued as anything else, and Viktor throws himself on the floor, stomach down, to point at Otabek with an accusing finger. “You cannot possibly… Can’t be”

His husband joins him quickly, still sitting yet clapping with his hands over his head: “Show show show show!” Otabek obliges, giving everyone a moment to look at him. He takes two fingers to the right side of his lower lip. Those must have been the ones on the picture; that’s two. He moves the same two fingers to the edge of his let brow; that’s four. He must have stopped wearing them some time ago already. His hands moves to his ear, one finger up, and one on the lobe. That’s-

“That’s six!” Yuri covers his mouth the second the words come out. Way too loud for his taste. Way too many eyes on him, too. Otabek smirks at him, disregarding everyone else in the room; he opens his mouth to let the tip of his tongue brush his lips slightly, and come out impossibly slow, curving at the tip. There it is: a bright small metal ball sitting on the middle of his tongue. Yuri stops breathing for a full second. He can’t stop staring. His mind’s rushing, making up thousands of different ways in which that little thing could be used against his skin. He can hear a faint whistle and a comment from Chulanont. Some stunned not too mild comments from the old couple (“I’m not into that but oh God I’m so into that” escapes Katsuki’s lips before he notices). He can hear himself practically shout. “You didn’t have that before!” He realizes he's said it out loud the moment he sees the reactions. Viktor glares at him, suddenly looking completely sober. Leo opens his eyes wide and throws his fist up in the air, again. Chulanont  _ giggles _ . 

“When was that before, Yurio?” Katsuki pulls up his softest tone but Yuri knows he’s doomed. He can’t stop repeating the scene in his head, feeling the hot breath around his cock, and trying to imagine how it would have gone if there was a little metal ball caressing every inch of him. He can’t answer. He’ll fuck up. He’s paralyzed. And Otabek has had his fair share of shots too: he’s talking a bit much. 

“Yesterday. I might have kissed you protegé on a public bathroom. You mind?” Apparently, he’s also sharp when he’s drunk. Yuri’s is just watching the scene unfolding before him from the bleachers, still completely out of it. Katsudon’s pissed, or worried, or just drunk. Any way, he doesn’t look happy. “I wonder, are you clean, Katsuki?” Otabek raises his glass and points at Viktor. “May I have your turn, Nikiforov?” He gets a simple nod in response. Everyone is curious at where the hell is he going. “Never have I ever make out with my best friend.” He looks at Yuri, raising his glass as in a toast, and winks. “Cheers.” He drinks. Yuri drinks. Chulanont drinks and Viktor glances at him, turning back to see Katsuki emptying his glass as well. He scowls but drinks as well. Yuri’s about to get up and try to stop all of this mess when he hears the happy yell.

“To my boy and the magic on his tongue!” Leo chants and gulps down his glass.   

It must be someone else. It  _ has _ to be. Yuri needs it to be someone else, anything else. Fucking Chulanont or the little one, if necessary. He doesn’t care. Anyone but his Beka. Something sinks inside of him when he notices this is the only time in the night, in the whole game, Otabek has lower his gaze to the floor. He’s ashamed. It  _ was _ him. Leo had kissed him. He’s assured Yuri nothing has happened and now it turns out he’s kissed Beka. And who knows if that was the only thing: after all, Otabek did find a way to hide the fact that he’s had Yuri’s cock in his mouth. Who the fuck knows what else could have happened between them. He can deal with strangers, with random shadows coming and going, not even leaving a name behind. He can’t think of him being one more on his list. One more friend being lured in, fucked and left behind.

He can’t stop himself before the words come out of his mouth, no matter the two idiots on the floor, having his little marital scene, no matter the fucking asshole still leaning on Otabek’s shoulder. Let the world crash and burn the next second, but let Yuri say what he needs to pull off his chest. “Let’s play the game again. You think I can guess?”

Otabek looks at him, softly, a hand stretched out to reach him yet waiting for a cue. “Yura.”

“Do you think I can hit the number? Fifteen maybe, twenty?”

“Yuri, please…” He reaches out and Yuri flinches, pulling himself away, far enough not to be touched. He feels dirty, used. Cheated on. Lied to. This was not supposed to happen again. He starts snapping the bracelet onto his wrist desperately.

“Give me a number, Beka!”

“I can’t!” Otabek looks away, gritting his teeth. The room is so silent Yuri can only hear his own jagged breath, the desperate beating of his heart trying to run off from his body, away where none of this shit can touch it. “I can’t answer that, Yuri. I have no idea.”

Yuri chuckles just to stop the pinpoint of tears already threatening to roll out. “I won’t.“ He gets up. Even looking at him hurts. This is not what he wanted of this. He thought they would be fine, they’ll finally fix things. He wasn’t gonna push but this… This was him letting go. Throwing himself over the edge. Fuck the soldier eyes. Fuck being alike. He’s nothing like this. He won’t be. “I won’t be another forgotten goddamned number, Beka!” 

Yes, they will ask. Him and otabek and whoever dares answer. He doesn’t care anymore. This is not how this night was gonna go. This is not how their thing was gonna go.

What the fuck just happened?


	7. Chapter 7

> _ Please come to my room.  _

Yuri can’t handle it. Any of it. Being alone in the dark, the walls feeling closer at every, each time harder,  breath, as if his ribcage was shrinking along with the room. The bracelet doesn’t do much now; this is not anxiety, this is not a crisis, this is his fucking world sinking, shattering into tiny little pieces. Impossible to put together again. 

This was not supposed to happen. Not anymore. There was gonna be no more lies, no more betrayal, no more of this indescriptible solitude. No more of this veil covered in needles, isolating him from anyone else. Bleeding him every time he dared come close to the bridge. And otabek was always standing there, always waiting, always tempting. He should know better, but it’s like a bruise: he just can’t keep on touching it, going to the pain. The little satisfaction he gets from it makes the pain around it worth it. And this is just a recoil, a moment of truth. He hates it. He hates Otabek. He hates himself because he knows the moment he can he’ll reach out again. he‘s too weak to deny himself. He’s weak and fragile, and he love. And fuck, this love is killing him. Consuming him. He wishes he could just shut it off, pluck out his heart and bury it deep on the ice. Skate over it: let it bleed under the blades. Rip off every part of it where Otabek’s touch is branded with fire. 

He wonders if there’s any part of him that’s not marked under his thumb. He wishes he could know; he wishes he could shed them. Every touch, every lick, every sweet word in his ears. 

He walks up to the door when he hears the knock, the heels behind it. His world suddenly closes under her arms, and some musky scent on her skin. 

She holds him tight, trying to pull his pieces together, while brushing his hair, undoing the new disheveled excuse of a braid that stood throughout his race to the room. She keeps her voice a sweet hum in his ear. “What happened, Kitten? What is it?” Yuri doesn’t answer; he lets himself be dragged backwards onto the bed and sinks into Mila’s arms, trying to shield himself for the outer world. “Come on, Yuri, talk to me. Please?” She hears the muffled sobs on her shoulder and runs a hand slowly up and down his spine. He lets go, bawling loud in her arms. 

For a moment there’s nothing but the sounds of his heaving, the murmured little song she’s chanting onto his ear. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. She can’t do nothing but hold him now. Until he falls limp. Until he washes himself off of this, whatever it is. Until he finds the strength to get up on his own. 

Until there’s a knock on the door. 

“Don’t leave me.” Yuri reacts the second she turns her head, balling his fists behind her back. “Please.” 

Yuri…” He runs her fingers through the back of his neck and he presses himself harder into her. 

“Please.”

“Yuri, no one knows I’m here.” The coaches have long gone to bed, and no one would look for her in this room. It has to be for him. “ They’re here for you.”His voice becomes the smallest whimper. Holding her tightly. “Let’s do it together, okay?” He sniffs and nuzzles on her shoulder, trying to convince her. “Just this time. For me?” He tightens his grip and lets one small sob out, trying to recover his own breath. “Please.” He nods, yet doesn’t look up. He’s still light as a feather, luckily: she pushes herself off the bed and over Yuri to guide his legs around her waist, and pushes him up. She carries him to the door, humming the same lullaby over and over. “Who’s there?”

“Um…” It’s a guy, that’s for sure. A drunk one, if she had to guess. Someone Yuri doesn’t want to see, judging by the way he suddenly clutches onto her back, as if an abyss would have opened under his feet and she’s the only one stopping him from being sucked in. “Yuri?”

“What do you want?” Her voice cuts into the air like daggers. She hear a thump on the door. It’s not a knock, to heavy for it. Maybe the whole guy leaning on it. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” He pauses. His voice lowers, trembles. “I don’t mind if you hate me Plisetsky, just… Could you not hate him?” The guy brushes his nails against the wood. “You’re gonna break him again.  _ I _ hurt you, okay?” A hand slams against the door. “I talked bullshit. I told you whatever. Not him.” A bang against the floor. The voice sounds much further. The guy must be sitting or kneeling at the other side. “Please hear me out. Beks won’t. I can’t see him like this, Yuri.”

Yuri growls, his throat hoarse, pushing himself off of Mila’s arms. She stays close enough to hold him but he lets himself fall onto his knees. He’s the vivid image of rage, his face flushes red, covered in too fresh tears, his teeth showing every time he spits his words like poison. “Then go to him!” He bangs on the door. “Go to him and leave me the fuck alone!”

“You can’t be a fling to him, Yuri.” A soft knock. “You can’t. He knew your name before any of theirs.” A brush of fingers against the woods. “He’s always remembered.”

Yuri bangs the door enough for it to echo on the too quiet room. “Yeah!” He lets the noise die before going on. “Because he didn’t have me.” His voice breaks. Yes he did. Otabek had his way with him already; he could forget about him once and for all, discard him like all the others. He was done for. Nothing but a used rag. “Just leave.” Nothing.

“No, Yuri.” A soft thump. “I’ve known him for years.” Pause. A heavy breath. A soft whimper. “He’s never been like that, y’know?” Pause. “Like. Talking. Smiling a lot.” Yuri presses his head against the door, clutching onto his frame for dear life. He doesn't need to hear this, there’s no point. It’ll only dig deeper into the wound. “And then he grew dark. Like, overnight.” Yes. Over one specific night. Yuri can recall the exact events of it. There’s a pit on his stomach that’s pulling his guts in: there’s a black hole trying to rip him out from the inside out, and it just becomes bigger at every word. He feels Mila’s hands on his shoulder but his skin is numb. He shakes his head, still against the wood. “And he went through the teenage shit but bad.” The hands on his shoulders run down to meet in front of him; he breaks down again under Mila’s embrace. “Like, the booze, a bit. But mostly the hooking up.” Thump. “It got wild, dude, like. I started texting him like crazy. His big sis told me she went to his house. Had this guy looking after him to make sure he’ll get home in one piece.” Rumble: nails on the wood. “He wasn’t sleeping.” Yuri felt his head spinning. He wanted to throw it all out, to push his fingers down his throat and vomit it all, heart and lungs and this fucking stone lodged under his breastbone, stopping him from breathing, tightening before the mere mention of his name, of his habits. Of his pain. Otabek’s hurting  _ him _ ; he doesn't have the right. He cannot suffer for this. He has to be the bad guy, the fake mustache and fast pistol and a knife carving into Yuri’s chest. He’s not supposed to feel. Yuri can’t deal with his Beka tearing him apart like this, but knowing about his suffering. That’s what’s killing him. “Are you still there?”

“Please stop.” It’s a real effort to pull out the words. His throat feels like he has just swallowed a hundred pins. And each and every one of Otabek’s fowl kisses lost in the dark. 

“He said he dreamt of you.” The world becomes a blur of browns, a series of stains under his unshed tears. Mila’s trying to hush him but his shoulders keep trembling, his frame keeps shaking. He doesn’t have the strength to shout it off anymore. He doesn’t let one sound out. “He said he could never reach you but you were smiling nonetheless.” He hears a clear sob now; the bubbly guy is crying. “He said he was gonna keep you away from his filth. That he wanted to make you happy-”

“Do you hear me happy?!” He tries to shove himself against the door, head first, but Mila pulls him back. He kicks it instead. “Do you think I’m having a fucking good time here?!” He tries to pull out but Mila is stronger. “Who the fuck does he think he is?! I’m the one who knows what I can endure! He calls me all sort of shit and then shuts me off!” He gulps hard. He wants to kick the door down, to kick  _ his _ door down. He wants out. Out of this skin, of this feeling constantly out, allowing other people to choose his battles, to always carry him to the shallow depths. He can fucking take it! Why doesn’t anyone notice? Why doesn’t he trust him?

“Let me tell you a story.” Pause. “There were once these two losers.” He chuckles. Yuri remembers Otabek’s expression when he did. Could have been right on the same spot. All hotels look alike, after all. “One convinced his crush would never see him the way he wanted.” Pause. “The other believing he wasn’t worthy to even meet his gaze. They were lonely, so they kissed.” Sob. The kind of sob that starts deep on your gut, that crawls like a blade out of your body, taking a piece of you with it. Yuri knew that sob. “They were still empty, but one of them had his beloved sort of close. He could always reach out, y’know? Play dumb.” Thump. “The other one didn’t. Kept playing the game around town.” Sigh. loud enough for Yuri to hear. “I tried to pull him together once. I thought I was enough. I was naive. Wanted him well.” Pause. “It’s not me he wants. Not any of them.” Shuffling on the floor tiles. The voice’s suddenly over Yuri’s head at the other side. “I can’t fix him. The World knows I’ve tried. He won’t talk to anyone.” Rumble. Fingernails against wood. “He turned off his phone. He’s leaving around noon.” The voice sounds small and the last sentence, far off. “Please hate me. But not him.”

Steps moving away. Heavy. Slow. 

He hears Mila talking. He can’t understand a word. He doesn’t want to. He just tries to sink himself further on the warmth of her arms.

He just wants this day to end- All this shit to end for once.

 

* * *

 

 

_ He likes you. _

Yuri wakes up damp in cold sweat, his hair sticking to his face, and something warm sprayed out on his stomach. Something holding him against the soft breathing on the crook of his neck. Something that won’t let him shuffle out, no matter the wiggling, nuzzled right in between of the lapels of his now opened vest. 

The wiggling reminds him that his head feels like it’s about to implode. That his eyes sting like he’s been trying to drown himself in vodka. Literally. Face first. 

“Mila…” He whines and scoffs, refusing to open his eyes. He can still feel the words slurred out, muffled down by the wooden sheet between them, engraved onto his skin. 

_ He’s always remembered. _

There was a tightening in his chest beyond the weight of Mila’s arm on him, something deep crawling inside of him, sinking its claws deep. Something bleeding. Otabek probably hasn’t slept all night; probably hasn’t even talked to his sisters. The bug inside of him twists in his gut and Yuri feels the nausea bubbling up. He brushes his fingers against Mila’s skin just to make her tighten the embrace around him, still asleep. 

It’s gonna consume him; it’s gonna leave nothing but an empty carcass of what he once was, and Yuri knows it. This wasn’t like Otabek, hiding and letting his friends fight his battles. Leo couldn’t have been sent. He must have been telling the truth: Otabek was locked up and alone, not willing to talk to anyone. Yuri wasn’t either but he always let Mila get in. It was less painful when she did. In a way. He knows he won’t be allowed to run off, to crawl inside his skin and never get out around her. He knows it’s like pulling the stitches out: it’s tough and painful and the pain will linger on his memory for a long time, like a ghost over him, but something will die inside of him if he doesn’t. Something will rot. And Mila would never allow that. 

He wonders why doesn’t Otabek let someone in, as well.  

“Mila.” his voice is a little bit louder this time, rasping against the roof of his mouth. He swallows his own breath to stop the stinging. It makes it worse. He feels a stirring besides him, fingers stretching and closing against his shirt. “Baba, come on.” He manages to open his eyes, blinking rapidly to kick out the stars behind his eyes, the light passing right through and burning into his brain. It was a beautiful morning. That is not fucking fair. He looks at the girl besides him, the team jacket thrown over her dress to sleep in, only one eye open and trying to shield her face from the sunshine slipping through the curtains with her hand. “You’re awake, Baba.” He reaches to poke her forehead with a finger; she puts her hand on the way.

“Of course I’m awake, you were bitching.” She scratches the top of her head while holding his grip onto Yuri’s frame. Rest her head right on his shoulder. Stares, a tired smile on her face. “How are you feeling, Kitten?”

Fine. He’s alone again,still trying to understand all that has happened. Feeling deceived. Again. Cheated. Used. Lured and played on like a little kid in a candy shop. The prospect of having Otabek close was far too tempting for him to push away, even when he knew something like this could happen. He knew then there had been other people, of course there had. He knew by the casual tone of an Instagram video, that Otabek has had some runs, that he knew how to play the game. He’s had his few rounds. Yuri thought knowing will make it better.

It did, at some point. While they were shadows looming in the distance, not even their names lingering anymore. Just a touch, maybe not even that. He’d lost count, after all. Hookups he can take. He couldn’t have possibly expected Otabek to wait for him when they weren’t even dating; they are  _ not  _ dating. They never have, right? 

It’s  _ friends _ what feels like a dagger through his chest. Used to be just the word in itself, pushing Yuri away from what he really wanted to, from how he really wanted Otabek to be around him. Like a brick wall, too heavy to kick out of the way, he thought. It’s not like he really tried kicking it down anyways. He was convinced it was a lost battle from the start. And the dagger twists. 

What difference would it make if it wasn’t, anyways? He was late to the party, as always: Leo was already there, sharing moments Yuri didn’t even know about, cuddling and listening to music, and just  _ knowing _ . Yuri‘s sure all of the secrets still hidden from him were shared with  _ him. _ Leo had a place in Otabek’s life Yuri could never fill; a seat he didn’t want to fill in. He might be wary of their relationship, of a connection he feels he doesn’t have with Otabek, yet he isn’t there to walk in someone else’s shoes, to follow the already marked dirt road. He’s not willing to let himself fall into a mold, chopping up pieces of him in the process, just to make Otabek forget about some….

Some what? What the fuck were they, after all? Living constantly around Viktor and his disgusting ranting about his husband, Mila and her less than desirable hook ups, Georgi and his ethereal princesses, he thought he had it clear. The difference, that is; the line between a friendship and love. But what if it’s not? What if it’s not as simple as touching a bit further, kissing them differently, a ring on their hands? What if it’s the difference is not so much for all eyes to see?

What if not everyone is as gross as Viktor?

Would that make Leo Otabek’s ex boyfriend then? Wouldn’t it?

Where the fuck was the line drawn between them?

“Mila…” He groans and turns to her. She makes a real effort of keeping her eyes open. She probably hasn’t slept much because of him. “Am I an asshole?”

She raises a brow, his lips barely twitching upwards. Tries to hold it in. Snorts. Yuri huffs as she cackles like a maniac into the pillow. “What?!” 

_ He wanted to make you happy. _

“Where does that come from, Yurochka?”  She tries hard to stop herself from laughing, heaving in between the words. Yuri turns to look up, pouting. He’s being fucking serious here! “Yes, you’re an asshole, but I thought you knew that!” she keeps on giggling and he can’t keep it in now. 

“It’s not funny, Baba!” he snaps and janks her arm off his chest. Crosses his arms around him, trying to find the warmth that just left him. “I mean it.” He feels her eyes on him, takes a deep breath. Roll his shoulders to try to make himself more comfortable. He knows the needles he feels in between his shoulderblades is not one he can’t massage out. “Am I a bad person for not liking someone’s…” Sigh. “experience?”

Silence. Too much silence, if Yuri must say. Then comes the chuckling. 

“Please, Yuri,” she starts, poorly masking the amusement in her voice, “please tell me you didn’t have a fight because he happened to have fucked people.” 

“It’s not like that!” He pulls his arms over his head to twine his fingers in his hair, trying to squeeze out something that makes sense. It makes sense in his head, alright? It’s not that. It’s the aftermath. “It’s just…” Pulls his arms closer to each other to hide behind them. “They’re no one. He doesn’t even know how many they were.”

“So?”

“So??” He looks at Mila, exasperated, pulling his hands down. “I can be no one, too!”

“Oh, sweetie,” she replies, brushing blond strands of hair out of his face. “You still don’t get it, do you?” she shakes her head, slowly, biting her lip not to grin wide. “You can’t. That’s the whole thing.”

He scowls, keeping his eyes on her yet looking much beyond.her.  _ He’s always remembered. _ That’s what Otabek has said, right? That day in Barcelona. That they’ve met before, that he’s always remembered. That he couldn’t stop thinking about Yuri. After five years of absolutely no contact. Even when Yuri himself had forgotten. Sure, Leo was there all that time, or some of it, who knows, but. Otabek kept thinking about him. 

Even when kissing Leo. Even when fucking random nobodies. Even when trying to send texts to a number he couldn’t reach anymore. 

He’s always remembered. 

Even when Yuri didn’t. Otabek has been always there even when Yuri wasn’t. 

So she’s right after all, huh?

She cups his jaw with one hand, calling his attention back to the world of the living. He’s zoned out again.  “What are we doing, then?”

Otabek probably hasn’t slept. He must have his phone still off. But Yuri has suddenly so much to tell him. 

He’s always remembered. 

“How about some breakfast?”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri strides into the cafeteria, linking arms with Mila, who's dressed in one of his training outfits and his team jacket, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. They take their places around the rest of their team, trying to shake off the remnants of the night; a quick glance around let them know that they aren’t the only ones. Viktor’s trying hard to focus on his food, his mind a mess of fuzzy thoughts and a killing headache, elbows on the table so he won’t fall. Katsuki’s straight up leaning on the back of his chair, a hand to his forehead, whining about how the room was so damned  _ bright _ . 

What a couple of idiots. They really do deserve each other. 

“Yu-rio!” Viktor tries to hum but the last  _ o _ sounds more like a groan than a cheer. He looks down at his half eaten plate to make the world stop being so noisy and fuzzy, and back up to the blond. “He’s really something, isn’t he?” He wobbles slightly as he pushes his elbow further into the table to point at Yuri, who scowls. “He’s surpassed  _ me _ . That is saying something.” 

Yuri scoffs and says nothing, letting the old man be scolded by Yakov, for his recklessness with alcohol, and Lilia for his awful table manners when hungover.  He lets his eyes wander around the room, checking on the other skaters. Chulanont was fresh out of the shower, hair damp and not a trace of last night’s madness on him. He didn’t drunk much, really. Leo has it a bit worse: head against the table and trying to lift his arms to gesticulate just to give in halfway. 

Then he sees Otabek: sitting straight up on the chair, a way too big hoodie covering his frame. Yuri would think he has no backlash from their little game if it wasn’t because of the messy ponytail on his head that’s been there clearly overnight. And the dark shades. And also the fact that although he can’t hear anything, Otabek’s coach is practically shoving a finger on his face, saying something not as loud as Yakov would, since there's no angry red flush in his face. Yet Otabek doesn’t move, just lets him say. That’s apparently his way to deal with people. He did the exact same thing with Viktor. Until the booze kicked in; then he started talking. Answering back.

Yuri could tell he was pissed, furious even, despite the monotonous tone of his voice. And he did all of that, out up with all of it, just to make them change their minds. 

Too bad he forgot some of the skeletons in his closet.

Yuri leaps up of his chair a little when he notices Otabek turning to him. Standing up. Yuri’s breath catches in his throat. They won’t be doing this here, will they?  He sees Otabek rapidly tuning his gaze and walking a bit too fast out of the room, leaving a very stunned coach muttering something to himself. 

He tries to catch, to find some sort of sign from Otabek that makes it clear that he pretends to be followed. Turning away that fast, as if Yuri’s presence was burning him; it looked like he was running away. Yuri’s aching to follow, his skin tingling, his fingers stretching, wanting to reach out. He’s not dense enough not to notice Otabek wants to be left alone. Even when this is probably the last time they’ll see each other in months. 

He turns to his last resort: jumps off his chair and practically stomps on the floor to get Leo’s attention. The guy shuffles a bit on his place but doesn’t turn. Yuri tries a more drastic approach. He kicks the chair into the table, making Leo flail and push himself back against the back of the seat, one palm raised in the general direction of Yuri’s face while shielding his eyes with the other. 

“Wooow…” Leo takes a moment, blinks nearly a dozen times and looks up. “Hey. Your…”  he moves the hand extended towards Yuri to point loosely at Otabek’s half empty table. “Oh. He’s not here.” He sounds disappointed.

“I  _ know  _ he’s not there, you shitfaced moron.” Yuri relies in every speck of self control in his body not to roll his eyes at the dulled boy in front of him. “I came for you.” He huffs and looks away. If Leo’s not gonna take the bait he’ll just have to leave and go look for Otabek himself. He’s not willing to shout ‘ _ do you think he likes me?’ _ in the fucking cafeteria to a drunkard. He’s above this. Still. 

Leo gets up, holding onto the back of his chair as if his legs were about to fail him, and stays still, looking at the ground. He’s still dizzy: Yuri tries his best to repress the need to gag at him. “Let’s go somewhere else.” Yuri tilts his head in confusion and sees the rest of the boy’s table glancing at them, trying to be subtle. For one, Chulanont is never subtle, and his coach’s gossiping not too secretly with Leo’s. Damn it. The last thing he needs is more rumours around him; having lost the podium is enough. “Somewhere darker, maybe?” Now the whole table’s trying to hide the chuckles. The guy is a fucking idiot. Yuri suddenly grabs Leo by his wrist and drags him away through the halls and into the stairway, pushing him against the steps. He’s sure he saw the lightning of a camera flash behind him; he’s certain it belonged to a particular Thai idiot. 

“Well?”

Leo just stares blankly, as if he weren’t even sure of where he is, his head tilted to a side. “Well what?”

Yuri pinches his nose: he’s got a variety of things to say to him, but he can’t be too loud or someone’s gonna show up on them. This is a challenge already. “What was all that last night?”

“Umm,” Leo takes a finger to his mouth and takes his time to answer, suddenly really focused on the wall behind Yuri. “See, Beks has a special skill with his tongue-”

“No, not that!” Yuri snaps and quickly lowers his voice again, growlin. “The other things. After.” He looks away. “I know that was you.”

Leo suddenly seems to wake up: his eyes light up and Yuri knows he’ll probably be in trouble. “Let’s do something! Come.” He closes his legs to move to a side and pats the step in which he’s sitting in. Yuri doesn’t move. “Come come. Sit.”

Yuri hisses and clicks his tongue before obliging. This must be going somewhere or Leo will definitely get some pain to complain about. “What do you want?”

“Let’s do a little something. I tell you about my Beks and you tell me about yours. Just little things.” Yuri squints his eyes at him. “Look. I’ll start. Um… Oh, I know! He slashed some guy’s tires once outside a club. With the guy right there. It was  _ glorious _ .”

“Huh?!” 

“Yeah yeah, you see; he always carried a pocket knife when we got out together, because when he’s alone he might get groped by some people, but they’re always alone.” He gets closer, gesturing with his hands to make the story more appealing. Not that Yuri isn’t completely stunned but the fact that Otabek used to  _ carry a fucking knife _ . Maybe Viktor had a point. The guy’s badass. “But since there were two of us, suddenly there were two of them, or, y’know, more. So.” He pulls back to lean on the rail as one would on a bar, elbow propped up, “here we are getting ourselves some drinks, and this guy comes up to me and mumbles something. Drunk talk, sure, but it sounded eugh, y’know? And I want to push him away and tell him that I have company and all, but he wouldn’t stop.” He leans forward to put his hand behind Yuri’s neck; the blond stiffens but doesn’t react. “So Beks comes around, grabs him by the neck and like,” Leo pulls his hand out and slams it against the step,” slams the bastard against the bar. The guy’s nose is bleeding like crazy, and he leaves. So we have our drinks, a bit of talking, we go home. But, in the way out, like around the corner, there’s this same asshole, face covered in blood and the guy already like, blue and swollen, and invites us to his car for a threesome.” Yuri sputters, eyes wide in shock. Seriously? That’s what they used to do? Hang around and getting invitations to fuck? “I know, I know, awful, but get this: Beks pulls out the knife, right, and the guy doesn’t  _ flinch _ . He goes ‘we can make it at your place, I can just tail behind you. It’s not like someone’s gonna stop me’. So that’s when Beks opens the tires from side to side. The four of them. He just walks around the car and  _ pfssshhhhh.  _ The guy’s stunned. I was, too. It was like.” Leo pulls up his best impression of a shocked face, hand clutching his chest and all. Yuri can’t help but laugh at the idiot. “Well, now you say something.” 

Yuri sighs. Leo was there before he could even meet the guy. He’s here now. There’s nothing they have done together Leo couldn’t possibly have shared with im already. He’s not that big of an influence in Otabek’s life as he thought, it seems. “No.” He glares at him, firm. “Tell me about the kiss.”

“Well, shit,” Leo laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head, looking like he’s about to run off. “I shouldn’t have said that shit, okay? I’m sorry, but it was a kiss. Nothing else. Not magic or fireworks or ‘hey, that’s good, let’s screw’. Nothing. “ He lets out a long breath, puffing his cheeks. “We were down; I got the ‘friends forever’ talk again from my crush, he was fucking up his jumps on practice. Bad day. So we went for it. That’s about it.” He purses his lips and furrows his brow in mock offense. “He said I was lame. Can you believe that?” He turns his face towards Yuri, who’s stifling a laugh. “That’s rude!” Yuri can’t hold it in anymore, before an offended Leo, exaggeratedly sighing with one hand on his forehead and the other clutching his heart. Okay, the guy might not be  _ so _ dull, after all. In fact, he’s pretty fun to be with. He still earns a playful kick for his trouble. “Wait, wait! Your turn! How was yours?”

“What?” Yuri’s not looking at the wide smirk on Leo’s face, too busy brushing the tears of his eyes, his chest still heaving. 

“Your kiss!” Yuri’s face suddenly loses all color. “Come on, he said he kissed you. Was the thing there? The magic?” He stares at his shoes, fidgeting with the hem of his bit too big shirt. 

“Why do you care?” He tries to sound menacing; it comes out as the little meow of a kitten that had just learned it’s got teeth. All threat, no actual damage. 

“Why? I’m his friend, that’s why!” Leo laughs openly but doesn’t manage to make Yuri step out of his cocoon. In any case, he shrinks further in, pulling his knees a bit upwards, letting his hair down. 

“Well, I’m just his friend, too!”  He snarls back and only gets a snort in response. 

“Just his ‘friend’? You see, if I don’t text him for six months, he doesn’t give a shit. If you’d disappear for  _ a day _ , well…” 

Well? He has nothing like they do, anyways. No cool stories, no little quirks only he knew, no secret smiles. He didn’t even knew how many piercings Otabek has had! He didn’t even know he had them! The only thing he knows is that he always says ‘good morning’ through Snapchat with a landscape; that Yuri can tell by now when it’s shot from his apartment window and he’s either running late or staying in. That he baby talks to cats but he’d do so in Kazakh, as if Yuri can’t guess by the tone of it. That he hates coffee but he forces himself to have a espresso every morning, otherwise he can’t possibly wake up in time. That he hates waking up early. That he hates it because he always ends up staying up late, talking to a laptop camera and the grainy image of a sleepy, lonely boy, trying to reach out as best as he can, as much as he can, for as long as he’s allowed to. 

They didn’t share many drinks, many dances; Yuri didn’t get into fistfights. He’s never been in jail. He doesn’t know the warmth of other people’s beds. Those are all on Otabek, and far from him. 

Yet. Maybe that wasn’t so terrible. He’s still got time, doesn’t he? To drink, and dance, and who knows what else. To feels Otabek’s skin underneath his fingers, to touch him until he can recognize every curve and every crease with his eyes closed, as if he was a treasure map engraved underneath Yuri’s eyelids. To kiss him again, to hold him again. To hear him whisper Yuri’s name on his ear, softly, lowly, deeply, with a sweetness only he’s capable of. To wake up besides him and to watch at his ‘good morning’ landscape as it’s meant to be watched: in the flesh, behind  and completely shone off by the light on those deep brown eyes. 

“The world stopped spinning,” Yuri hears himself say, a tiny shy smile on his lips, still hidden in itself, “it evaporated. There were no sounds, no one else and,” he unconsciously hugs his frame, trying to remember Otabek’s touch around him, “I just wanted to drown in it.”

“That sounds awesome.” Leo’s voice sounds much more serious now, even though Yuri can still imagine the smile lingering. “I’d like to have one like that someday.” He hears a clap and some movement besides him: lifts up his gaze to find the boy is not sitting with him anymore. He’s standing right next to him, offering a hand. Yuri glares and slaps it away. “Fine, fine!” Leo puts both hand up while stepping back to let Yuri raise from his spot. “We should get back though. They’re waiting.”

Yuri scoffs, kicking his feet against the floor. 

He doesn’t have the daring Beka who would fuck up a car for him. He doesn’t have the badass who would carry a knife with him and keeps on getting into drunk fights. He’s barely met the one who has a tongue piercing and an alcohol resistance Viktor’s impressed by, for fuck’s sake. But Yuri has his own: his bookworm, closeted animal lover, album collector Beka. The one who doesn’t give up until he can’t get up from the floor. Who skates until his body yields, everyday. Who stays up every night because Yuri had a bad day, even when he lives three hours ahead. 

Yuri has something, after all. He has a fighter by his side. Yuri should make sure he just keeps on fighting. 

“He calls my cat  Xanşa. Means Princess in Kazakh.” Yuri notices Leo has stopped walking but doesn’t lift his gaze. It feels like he’s uncovering some secret truth of their life together, something so intimate it should be shameful to show to the public. “She loves it: rubs herself all over the laptop camera every time he calls, the traitor. She doesn’t even look at me.” He scoffs and can hear the giggling before him perfectly. 

“Who would have known Bad Boy Beks had a weakness for soft fluffy animals?” Leo reaches out to take a strand of blond hair on his hand but it gets slapped before he can get close enough. 

“Oi!” Yuri glares daggers at him, showing his teeth. “Only a handful of people get to touch my hair.” 

“Let me guess.” Leo grins and caresses his chin as in deep thought. Yuri has never felt more inclined to kick someone’s teeth in than at this very moment. 

“It’s not like he does it all the time.” He scoffs. “Only when we’re watching something, he gets distracted I guess.” He looks away, his face suddenly reddening. “Or when he’s half asleep; I guess it’s just there, so… What?!” 

Leo has no shame in staring: he’s lived long enough with one punk to not feel intimidated by another. 

“You know what I’ve gotten when he was half asleep?” Yuri goes positively bright red this time, his fists trembling in his pockets, still visible by the recoil on his shoulder. “Kicked out of the bed. Not much of a cuddler, that guy.”

“Really?!” Yuri looks at him completely stunned. “He’s always holding  _ me _ .”

“Well, yeah!” Leo waits for an answer, expectantly, as if it were the punchline of a joke Yuri clearly didn’t get because his expression hasn’t changed at all. Leo lifts his eyebrows. Nothing. “Are you really  _ that _ dense, oh my-Ow!” Leo jumps back when the kick connects with his waist. One good thing about ballet, Yuri notes.  He keeps a steady distance, just in case, brushing nursing his side. On top of the deadly hangover, now he gets a bruise (because that will most surely bruise). When this all blows out Otabek better buy him a beer or something. “ Let’s just go back, okay?”

“Tch.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the trigger warnings come into play. you've been warned.  
> Also, sorry.

He can hear nothing but the muffled rumbles of traffic and some bird or two adventuring themselves onto his balcony rail to sing. He doesn’t need anymore. 

In fact, he needs  _ less.  _ If Otabek could somehow lock himself inside a completely silent cube, only him and his own head, he’d fine. No more scolding from his coach for being unfocused on the trainings, no more impromptu visits from Aika and Nuro, claiming that if he won’t feed himself they’ll force feed him (and he does believe them, therefore he never answers back. No one ever messes with Aidana Altina and comes out in one piece.) No more sweet songs played by Zhamila, trying to cheer him up; no more having to endure the cloud on her gaze when she looks at him. He’s the big brother, he’s not supposed to let a little girl take care of him, remind him he hasn’t eaten a proper meal or had full night sleep in days. That he still hasn’t answered one single text or picked up the phone, even when his coach forced him to keep the damn thing on. He can’t stand it; their love only reminds him of the one he cannot have, the one he’s yearned for for years and just pushed away. Twice. For the same reason. All he sees in the mirror is the shit he’s accumulated on his back the past few years, the scars on his knuckles, the cuts on his hands, the fingerprints and sloppy kisses on every inch of his skin. He was mark, tattooed, branded beyond recognition. Where the press saw a Hero, he can’t see more than a decadent bar rat. 

But no, not even. If he’s left alone to himself, he can only remember. He can only see every hand that’s ever reached out to feel him, all at once, digging into his flesh. If he drowns on his memory he’ll sink in further than where he knows he can swim back up. Fifteen, he said. Twenty. Otabek only wishes it was that easy, a number passing through your body, a bit of skill and dare left behind, and nothing more. For some it is; not for him. It’s been always his outlet, his way to still feel in touch with the world after drowning himself in his own need to stand out over his errors and his inability to do so. After a particular bad day at the rink, he’d recoil, no matter how shiny the last medal or how flattering the latest nickname was, sneaking into a club he knew he was too young to be in, leaving with the filth of whoever he was willing to indulge. The permanent sensation of their whisky scented saliva on his neck, their teeth digging into his thighs (he’s never shown up to training with one single visibly hickey: this was his own nasty little secret), the taste of cum still in his mouth, or slithering down his legs. There’s no shower long enough to wash their brand away, and Otabek was always secretly pleased Leo was such a heavy sleeper. He could crawl back to bed from where he snuck out some hours before and pretend nothing happened in the morning. 

Some mornings he could be absolutely sure Leo knew: he looked at him like Zhamila looks at him now, every time she comes by. Otabek would snarl some shitty comment at him and Leo would smile nonetheless, because that’s just the way he is. There’s no pain in the world that can snatch your joy away if you don’t let it, he’d said to Otabek once, you just need to reflect on the joy around it. If you can feel the pain, you can feel the joy too, they always come together. 

If he only knew. 

He’s never asked. Otabek’s certain he’s afraid of testing his own theory. Maybe there is something big enough that can slip off your grip and tear you apart in a million pieces. There’s no smile that can fix that. 

There’s no smile that can bring the boy he’s loved for years back to his arms. Not to these arms, plagued by other people’s sins, not to  _ this _ . He deserves better. No matter how much it destroys Otabek, Yuri deserves better. 

Even when there’s this voice in Otabek’s head that repeats it like a mantra:  _ you won’t forget about him. _ Even when he knows he’ll keep watching him from the side, no matter what, because wherever his soldier goes, his heart will join. And he has no (shame/doubt?) in saying that. He’ll just carry on the best way he can.

Shutting the damn voices off. Even if that means getting one more scar. He can endure it.

Turns out he was never meant to fight for his own love, after all. He was meant to fight for Yuri’s happiness. And if that means he has to stay away, then he will. 

Even if it kills him. Even if it poisons him with coal dirty stares and careless, daring hands. The sole memory of Yuri’s skin against his lips can push all that disgust aside, anyways. 

 

He brushes his hair back with one hand, not bothering to get off the couch he’s laying in to find an actual brush. Or a towel. Or a shirt. Aika has come to see him get some dinner a moment ago; it’s not like anyone’s around to scold him for it. He’d gladly let himself sink into the couch, lost in the void of it, if that would mean the voice in his head would shut up for once. The hurtful voice. The accusatory stare. The fire on those bright green eyes; the fire has always mesmerized him somehow. No, not always; not before. It’s only that particular flame that makes him crawl out of his den, become someone special, someone extraordinary, someone… less flawed. Less burdened. Less filthy. And ignited it, yes; the way he shouldn’t have. And he ‘s come back to hide back under his rock, his eyelashes charred from staying to close to the sun. He should have known. The wings he made up for himself weren’t gonna last. Not with the heavy chain dragging behind. 

He laments couches don’t actually have the ability to swallow people whole. And the time he’s spent binge reading enough to give him such stupid ideas. And the purchase of the couch itself, rolling back his shoulders and filling up the whole room with the crackling of his back. He’ll probably have to get up sooner than later. But getting up would mean having to face a good number of things he’s not willing to just yet. doig ng the dishes would mean he’d have to face the need to cook, which mean he’d have to get out, which means..

He’s had enough human interaction for a day. For a fucking lifetime. What he wants is not comfort, it’s an outlet. They’re not human. They’re sheer lust and blind eyes. They never stop until they get what they’ve come looking for. And he never refuses.

Yet fate has another thing coming, he notices, as the sound of keys clicking the lock open reaches his ears. Damn it, she shouldn’t have gotten back, there’s nothing for her here, and it’s way too dark for Zhamila to come by. His first reaction is to cover his face and groan loudly. His sister can deal with his childish rantings, she’s the older one for a reason, isn’t she?

“Haven’t you finished bothering me for tonight?!” He hears nothing but the echo of his own voice on his minimalistic apartment, bouncing on soundproof walls. The click of the door. Silence. “What do you-?” He gets up with a scowl on his face only to stop dead in his tracks. He swears he stops breathing for what it feels like an eternity. His heart jumps up a beat and tries to get back on track by beating so fast Otabek feels it’s gonna burst out of his chest. He opens his mouth and closes it. Several times. Nothing comes out. He can’t stop staring at the slender figure at the door, shifting from one foot to the other under several layers of clothing. He doesn’t even blink; he’s afraid he’s finally lost it, and this is a mirage, and he is lonely and abandoned and-

“Mind switching back to Russian?” He talks. He talks and a wave of relief washes off of Otabek, a breath too long for him to be holding. Then he remembers. Every time he tried to get close, he’d ended up hurting him. Every time he tried to come clean. Yuri takes a step in and Otabek takes one back, a hand extended before him.  _ Please don’t get close, don’t let me hurt you.  _ He feels them all, the remorse, the touches, the licks, the whispered profanities. He feels the bile threatening to come up and pushes it down,swallowing hard. He realizes his eyes are glued to the ground. He realizes he’s heaving, trying hard to breath; the walls feel so much closer now, his chest so much tighter, pressing onto his lungs. His vision clouded, tears threatening to come down.  _ Not now, fuck, not now. _ He tries his hardest not to wrap his arms around himself, letting his fingers bury in his hair, digging hard onto his scalp. He tries his best to pull up some words, something. Anything. Anything will do. “Hey-”

“ _ How.”  _ His voice sounds croak and foreign, as if it was coming from a rusty old speaker and not his own throat. He still doesn’t dare look up; all he knows is Yuri must have taken his coats out, for the rustling of fabric against the floor but isn’t closing the distance between them. Good. Maybe that will make this feel more like a sick delusion and not this painful reminder that he’s just gotten around chance to ruin it all again. 

“I called your sister.” Silence. “She- she picked me up and gave me your key.”

He puts his head down, covering his face with his arms. His knees fall onto the floor. He can hear a drowned whimper, as if someone’s choking. His brain can’t figure out that’s his own voice.  _ This can’t be real, please don’t make it real.  _

“Beka…” That’s not a delusion, that’s not a voice in his head, that’s a plea. And Yuri Plisetsky does not beg. He grits his teeth to stop it all, to bottle up all of this gangrene consuming him again. Away from all of this. Yuri should not see this. He can’t this. This is not the face of a Hero. This is the look of a fucking scared child, trying to reach higher than he’s ever meant to. A sob still escapes him, forcing his way out of his closed chest, ripping it in half. He’d swear Yuri could hear the physical pain in his voice. 

“No.” If Yuri dares come closer he won't know what to do. What if they’re right? What if he’s nothing, what is if he’s dirty, what if he’s contagious? What if this magnetism he holds on his skin, calling out for every lowlife, every scum of the underworld, reaches out to Yuri? 

What if he can never be whole after him? What if no matter how much Otabek loves him, he takes a piece of him when he touches him? What if he can never be happy again? What if yuri starts feeling the pollution squirming into his flesh too? “Don’t. Stay there.” 

“Beka, I’m tired of this.” He feels the thump of Yuri’s body falling onto the floor. He feels his arms glued on their place. He needs to tell him it’s not safe for him, it’s all for his own good. He can’t endure this. Otabek can barely put up with it himself. He can’t find the strength on his muscles to move. “Please, look at me, Beka.” But if he does, he knows all of this is happening; all of it will be engraved in stone, impossible to erase, to fix. He’s had too many cracks impossible to fix. One more could just tear the dam down. “I beg of you.”  _ Please don’t do this.  _ “I need you to.”

Otabek shuts his eyes as tight as he can, until he sees stars underneath his eyelids. He takes a deep breath, then another. He pulls his arms to his his sides, slowly. Yet his knuckles clash hard, fists closed, the second he feel the floor tiles under his fingers. He hisses a deep breath out, his brows slightly furrowed. He’s gonna have to do this eventually; he’s gonna have to stop hiding. He’s gonna have to open his eyes. 

He’s terrified. But there’s something on that voice that soothes him, that lures him. That carries him to perdition. 

Or out. Just out. 

He opens his eyes and it takes a second and a few blinks to adjust his eyes to the sudden change of perspective. He can see him, a dainty figure draped in golden locks, sitting on a mock throne of discarded coats and a scarf half knotted on his foot. Yuri looks like a vision, and Otabek feels like he’s unable to breath again. But differently. He feels he doesn’t need to; he could drown into the light of those eyes, drinking his whispers in, letting his fingers thread onto the long bangs. He feels he could be clean. Again. Full. Complete.

But Yuri wouldn’t. He doesn’t come close, doesn’t keep his gaze. The soundproof room makes the little whimper on Yuri’s voice all too clear in his ears. He tries to shrug it off.  

“Why?” It’s meant to be a question. It sounds like a demand. Yuri looks small, all the way on the other side of the room, his hands buried in his hoodie’s pockets yet anything but quiet. His gaze is all over the room but on him. Otabek can’t blame him, really; the sole presence of Yuri in his house was stirring things inside of him he didn’t know were there. There’s remorse, yes, but that always hangs onto him like a tick. There’s pain but he’s expected that. Fear; always there, yet it used to push him forward instead of back. And there’s something else.

Yuri’s come to his house, on his own will. There’s something he can’t just grasp on the idea. He hates Otabek now, he’s certain. He’s seen it, gleaming on those fierce green eyes of his. Then why is Yuri here now? In his house, insisting on having a talk no-one wants to have? Because he knows exactly with the blond’s gonna say.

“I’m tired of this.” 

But Otabek can’t change the words coming out of the boy’s mouth. He already knows it’s risky, he already knows there is so much he doesn't need to hear.

He’s still here.

“I wanna know, Beka.” It should like a demand, for the effort Yuri’s making in looking firm. It sounds like a whimper. “I know there’s…. A lot. But I  _ need _ to know. I need to know you, Beka.” 

Otabek knows Yuri uses his name as a weapon. He knows that every time he hears the word rolling softly off his tongue it send shivers down his spine, bristles to his skin. He knows Yuri’s testing the waters now, checking if he’ll give in.

He really wants to. 

“There’s a lot.” The word ‘no’ refuses to leave his mouth the second their glances meet. There’s something in Yuri’s eyes that makes him weak to the boy’s desires. There’s something in Yuri’s eyes that makes him strong enough to face his own desires.

Yuri smirks. “You slashed some douchebag’s tires. All four.” The subtle trembling in his voice doesn’t cover the smugness of it completely.

Otabek lifts up a brow.“I didn’t tell you that.” Yuri’s trying to lighten the mood, and it somehow works, even with the feeling of dread still making every move heavy, doubtful, every expression slightly jarred. “It was necessary.” He dismisses, barely waving a hand.

“It was badass.” Yuri chuckles. “Leo told me. He said you always did that.” Otabek averts his eyes: it’s not like he went out exclusively to damage someone’s car. The guy was about to follow them, he just  _ had _ to. “Defend him, I mean.” 

Otabek takes a deep breath, lets the faintest trace of a smile reach his lips, and pulls his legs from underneath him, stretching them in front of him. He keeps his gaze on his own toes, as if to not let anything distract him. It’s a silly thing, really, but it’s a silly thing that leads to other not so small, not so innocent things. 

He can’t just drop his world on Yuri’s shoulders; he’d break under the weight. He’s careful choosing his words, making the story safe enough. Details aren’t that important, after all. “Leo always smiled a lot. It…” He tries to shake the disgust in his tone, on his face; Yuri must have seen it anyway, he’s somehow quick to read him no matter how hard he tried to hide. “...got some unrequited attention. Often.” He takes a deep sigh, frowning. “He’d always smile, even when trying to reject them. That just doesn’t work.” He tilts his head to a side, barely closing his eyes as he runs his fingers harshly against his scalp, trying to shut off the feeling that  _ he’s going to spill way too much, this is not right. _ Yuri wants to know; Otabek should let him know. He takes one deep breath. Two. His hand stopped at some point during: he notices it now, clutching harshly on the long strands of his hair, twirled on his fist. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; he’s not ready to see Yuri when the words finally escape his mouth. He knows it’s gonna happen, no matter how much he tries to stop it. There’s some sort of magic: he can’t fight it. He doesn’t want to. He wants to share his all, to prove he can’t be cleansed. To try and see if he can. 

“Beka?” Yuri sounds concerned but doesn’t dare raise his voice. Otabek hears the shuffle: his body lifting from the ground, steps coming closer. “Beka, what is it?” His voice sounds unbearably close. Way too close for him to open his eyes again, to see him within reaching distance. To feel tempted to taste his lips again, to look for the faintest trace of the saltiness of tears Yuri’s shed for him, to lick them all off. To kiss both their bruises goodbye. 

Even when he knows life is not so fucking simple. 

He lets the hand on his hair fall to lift his chin up, Yuri has to know, he has to. He’s not a kid; he needs to know what he should be getting away from. He should see all of Otabek’s filth crawling behind him; he’ll leave on his own then. This is for the best, it has to be. It’s Otabek’s last move, a desperate one, but there’s no point to keep on holding on now. Either Yuri lifts this weight off of his chest, or it will finally suffocate him. Bury him. 

“Let’s play a game.” He smirks. Painful. He won’t back out now, no matter the pain. He’s a warrior, he can take it all. “Pick a number.”

“Beka, seriously, stop the bullshit.” Yuri sounds like he’s about to throw a fit. About to get up and leave. Deadpanned and sick of it all. Otabek can only understand: he feels the same way. Still, this is the only way he can do it.

“Pick a number.”

“Beka.” Yuri raises his voice but still sighs and gives in. “Fine. I don’t know where the fuck you’re going with this though. Fourteen.”

“I went to the States at fourteen, met Leo; lived with him for two full years. But you knew that… I started street dancing. Aerial dance. Tried and dropped a few other things.” Otabek waits for a comment, anything to let him know Yuri hasn’t run off yet. After the muttered ‘what’ he chuckles and goes on. “First arrest, too. First night in jail: I broke someone’s fingers on a fistfight and he’d had barely touched me, so the cops took me.” There’s a gasp next to him. “It didn’t help I told them I was fourteen when they took me in. Or that I was too drunk for a Tuesday night. And I was a foreigner. Without an ID on me.” 

At every comment some murmured profanity slips off Yuri’s lips; Otabek starts finding them sincerely amusing. “My coach is the only adult I knew, so I had to call her.” He sighs. “I called her a lot during that year, and the next one. By the time I decided to move on I’m positive she hated me. I didn’t really listen to her either, always tried to aim higher than she thought I could. She was mostly right, anyway.” 

Yuri grunts something but he dismisses it: he’d love to see the blond’s face now, to see what his past’s doing to him, even though he barely said a thing. He doesn’t dare. It’d be like taking a crowbar to the cracks of his cardboard reality. The rain’s falling, but at least he gets to see it decay slowly, giving him time to adjust. Not enough, but still. He puts a knee up to prop his arm on it; looks down. “I didn’t spent more than ten nights in prison or so anyways: they were always bar fights, they don’t do much about them. It’s a minor thing.” 

He bites his lip to stop the memories of it from flooding in, the nights behind bars, the words crossed. He’ll not tell Yuri the way the cops looked at him, the things he’s been said, the way he’s been beaten down on an alley but still not taken in. The words always hurt more than the bruises. The looking away every time some other guy in the jail would run a hand up his leg and his face would twitch in disgust. He’ll won’t tell him about the nights spent defending himself when no one else would. Even from the ones who were supposed to help him. He won’t tell him the words they used to describe him. He tries to relax his body, wincing at the half moons his nails are digging into his palms, stretching his hand to feel the sting extending through his skin. At least it soothes him. Somehow. Pain has always help: the ice embraces his own wounds more than anyone in that cold side of the world ever did. No matter how hard Leo tried. He needs to move on, to think of something else, to- “Pick another.”

Yuri huffs. “You haven’t told me about your dorm yet. You were fourteen  _ then _ .” Otabek knew it would happen: Yuri goes too fast. He doesn’t feel the daggers. Otabek needs to take control, but he has none on himself, he can’t let go of his own restraints either. This wobbly middle ground, this tightrope, is the one thing he’s got not to lose his mind. Not to shatter. 

“Pick a number.”

“Fuck this.” He hears a loud blow against the couch that can only translates as Yuri’s back clashing against the wooden frame of it. The damn thing is way too worn out to soften the hit; he’s bought it second-hand, after all. He hears cursing and remembers his own pain in his back. Still doesn’t open his eyes. “Fuck it.” Yuri scoffs: Otabek doesn't need to see him to know he’s glaring at him. Because of course he would, that’s just how Yuri is. “Fifteen, and no shortcuts this time.” 

“I lost my virginity then.” He hears a faint what and his eyes shoot open. Damn it, he’s not supposed to say that. Or at least like  _ that _ . One doesn’t throw such a phrase around. Sure, Yuri wants to know important things and all, but not like this. Where has his tact gone? He turns around, leaning on his hands on the floor in front of him, to see Yuri, emerald green eyes staring wide at him, his mouth gaped open, a finger entangled in his hair, suddenly stopped from its task of twirling the little golden lock around itself. “I- I didn’t- I mean-”

“Tell me.” Yuri frowns, bites his lip, seemingly already regretting his decision. “All of it.”

Otabek tries to deny him but he can see it would only make Yuri suffer worse. He can take his friend’s pity, a bit of it. It’s better than upright hatred, than a slap to the face in an empty hallway. He hopes it is.

“There’s not much to tell: some guy, in a shitty bar’s restroom.” Otabek tries to find something to encourage him go further, but there’s something clouded, something lost in Yuri’s eyes. Something that just turned the lights off. At least that way he might not feel the full blow when it hits. “It wasn’t nice, or….” He wants to think it’s shyness and not straight up shame what he feels; he still tries to pull off the words no matter how much they hurt. Maybe it’s the only way to make it stop, to let it heal. “Gentle. Whatever. I don’t think I’ve even told him I was a virgin, I just went for it.” The moment he spit out those he wishes he could swallow them back again. He can’t do this. He can’t. He pulls himself closer, letting his hands fall onto his knees. He feels the sticky sensation of cigarette stained fingers on his skin, kneading hard enough for him not to confuse the touch as kind, the stench of the man’s breath against his face, the nasty words that tried to hard to be flattering in a way too foul tone for it. 

“Was it....” Yuri starts and cuts himself short, a hand fidgeting on the hem of his shirt. “I mean, like….” He tries again but there’s a familiar gleam in his eyes Otabek has the need to shake off. He can’t quite tell what is it. The trace of tears forming, maybe? No. Something closer. Shame. “Like with,  _ us?” _

“No.” He knows he answers too quickly and too harsh (and damn, too fucking loud), but the thought of Yuri regretting him aches more than a hundred lousy dirty fucks. Even more than that one. “I would never-” There it is: the feeling of nausea kicking up his throat, his gut twisting and turning as he remembers the smell of the soiled restroom: no running water and a whiff of stale vomit, dark patches of mold and stains of the tiles, and a dirty echo of every  dirty noise coming out from their flesh slamming together, the sink creaking under his weight, the words…. The words could always hurt him more. “I could never-” purred over the stench of old whiskey and ashes on his mouth, despite the chapped sharp lips on his neck, on his back, the slobbery licks on his skin, the too rough hand brushing the incipient tears from his lashes. “I’d never do that.” Despite the still remnant of the taste of his own bile hours later, after four or maybe five glasses too many. Despite the pain. Words always knew how to dig deeper than anyone could. “I could never do that to you.”

“Do  _ what? _ ” Yuri gets up from slouching against the beaten up couch to tower over him. “What wouldn’t you  _ do? _ What did you do with him, Beka?” He sounds angry, glaring at him, demanding an answer Otabek just can’t find the strength to give. Words hurt much worse, after all. He doesn’t need to say it. He doesn't need to hear it. If it’s never mentioned, it’s almost like it hasn’t happened, right? “What did you let him do to you?”  _ you cannot possibly understand, _ he tries to say,  _ why I can’t just tell you? _ But his own voice becomes too shy, too small to be heard. “Speak up! What happened, Beka?” He doesn’t want Yuri to feel it, the things he’s gone through. He doesn't want to feel them all again just by mentioning them. They could have only been a bad dream. A succession of bad dreams. All ghosts on his mind. All not real. They can be if he never mentions the word. “Talk to me!” Yuri demands something Otabek cannot give him. He keeps staring at the boy’s leopard printed sneakers just to avoid his gaze, yet every yell shakes him like an earthquake. Something inside him cracks in every hurt fluctuation on Yuri’s voice; the blond is testing his own patience, breaking down. Otabek is, too. “How is it any different?!?”

“I cared for you!” He winces at the volume of his own voice, bouncing on the walls. Drops his head in his hands, biting back the next growl.  _ How dare you accuse me of something like this. _ “I  _ tried _ to, I-” the last syllable ends up in a whimper and he stops, hissing, trying to pull himself together. His frame trembles slightly at the phantom touch of a too crude hand digging deep into his flesh, holding him in place as another one forced him to keep his gaze glued to the mirror, his own face growling back at him in between the hissing, the bitten down wails. He can feel the bruises on his hips, around his jaw burning bright, renewed. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Did he?” Yuri takes his time before he speaks but when he does, he sounds distressed. Upset. Shaken. His tone’s still sharp and rabid but there’s a slight quavering in his voice… Otabek can feel him walking off, pacing around the room. “Did he hurt you? Why would he- why would  _ anyone-  _ Who DOES that?” Yuri stomps on the floor and Otabek flinches at the sound. He recalls Leo’s face when he woke Otabek up the chair where he fell asleep on, head resting over the table, after vomiting his guts out but unable to spit out his own disgrace, still branded as deep purple bruises on the sides of his face. He can copy every little word said; words always hurt the most. Especially if the first were  _ I’m so sorry _ . And all he wanted to do was crawling into his own skin and kick the memory out, the bruises off. Anything to make Leo stop feeling responsible for him. Wounded by him. It was not his body, it was not his head it’s been messed with. It was not his fault. Yet it still seems to burn everyone around him, to let his scars on everyone he touched. 

“What kind of shit takes advantage of people like that? How could anyone let the creeps close, anyways? Why would anyone let them touch-?” Yuri stops. Literally stops: walking, ranting. Probably breathing as well, at the second he saw Otabek’s shoulders stiffen up, trying to contain the sudden high pitched whimper that escaped him despite the ferocity on which he was biting the heel of his hand. Otabek tries to shut it up, to hold it in, and once it’s out it’s uncontrollable: the tears start falling and his chest tries desperately to get some oxygen in, feeling like he’s suffocating on his own flesh, like his body is tightening, and his vocal cords won’t work. At least there’s not enough air to make him bawl like a pathetic baby, to humiliate him even more. He feels Yuri kneeling behind him, the boy’s thighs barely brushing his back when reaching to brush a tear off his jaw, following the trace back to the corner of his eye. Otabek only lets him, frozen. Yuri’s touch suddenly becomes cold on his skin, as if his fingers sculpted of the ice they skate on, cold and fed on blood and sweat and tears; painful and sharp against his skin. 

“Don’t do that.” He snorts and his face twists into a morbid rageful smile as his hands move slowly down from his face, clawing on his knees, still incapable of shaking the sense of threat around him. Close to him. Right at his back. “Don’t be like them.”

Yuri’s hand whips out of his face in a flash. “Like  _ them?” _ He drags himself cross the floor to see Otabek’s face and his resolution shatters. His gaze lose the spark, the fire, the anger. His mouth falls open and his hand tries to reach him. It falls back down to his own wrist. Otabek hears the snap of the silly bracelet and chuckles. Yuri flinches. “Who’s them?”

“Six. That’s the number you were looking for. Six.” He looks down and smirks, as if it doesn’t hurt exactly the same throughout the years, as if he doesn’t remember every touch, every blow, every goddamn word. “Could have been more though. Ten, twelve. Fifteen.” He chuckles again but doesn’t dare to look at Yuri’s eyes anymore, focusing on how his hair shakes at ever tremble of his shoulders. How his hands keeps on tugging at the bracelet. “College kids: they always need an audience I guess.” Snap.”And a toy to play with.” Every little word, still engraved on his mind. “To mark as theirs.” 

“Beka, I - ” Yuri’s voice seems cottoned down on his ears, his fingertips numb and tingling. Almost like being drunk, he thinks. Drunk and lulled off his shithole of a reality; drunk and far enough for him to feel every sensation through a thick veil, only the familiar sting of physical pain reaching him, only the known cut of words digging into him. Yet loving ones, he can’t hear. Not now. There were never any, after all.  _ You should be glad, this is much better than you deserve. _

“It’s easy for six grown men to corner a little kid on a corridor.”  _ We’ll make a man out of you _ . “One who doesn’t know he shouldn’t mention the ice.”  _ Although you’ll never be more than a pretty little boycunt.  _ “Who didn’t have someone to call out, either.”  _ Your sand nigger little ass should be grateful for the treatment, so show us your thanks.  _ “It’s not like anyone could have made a difference.”  _ You must know how, since you’ve surely sucked some good number of cocks to get out of that shithole you called a home, huh? _

“Stop, Beka, stop!” Yuri hasn't snapped the bracelet in some time, he couldn’t have. Not with his hand up to cover his ears, pressed so tight he could just as well crush his skull flat, eyes shut hard and his teeth closing around his now bruised lower lip. “Why are you doing this to me?!”

“To you?” There’s something perverse about it, the need of justifying one’s own suffering by projecting it on others. Call it payback. Call it sympathy. Call it morbosity. The latter will always be more honest. But it’s also compulsion: the pain isn’t as humiliating, as dehumanizing when it's shared. It’s honest when it’s shared. Otabek wishes he could say it’s desperate call out for sympathy. It’s that and not the need to feel more of a human being again. It’s that and not a dam finally beaten down and spilling all the infested waters behind. It’s that and not a flood he doesn’t have the strength to stop. A current dragging him no matter how hard he tries to stay put. “You think this is bad? You have no idea what bad is.” 

He laughs that sarcastic laugh he’s heard before and learnt how to hate (a bad trait of the men of his family, apparently). He’d flinch and shaken himself awake, but it’s overwhelming. All of the things he tried to bury deep are crawling through the dirt, pulling themselves up. It’s just so much. “Do you have any idea how that is, to be shoved against a wall, and spat on, and beaten?” And he feels the fingers threading under his clothes, trying to tear the off his frame, forceful hands pulling his hair back hard, the sharp sting of his head colliding against the wall, the lulling pressure around his forehead because of the blow. ”To have hands all over you, fingers shoved down your throat?”  _ We’ll make you skilfull, train you every single night.  _ The faint taste of salt and blood comes back to his mouth, the cursing; they didn’t expect the little faggot to fight back,  _ to bite back _ . It was a small victory, he remembered. The taste of blood always makes him feel like a warrior. “To get choked against your own wall hard enough for it to bruise, until the lights start burning way too bright?” 

Something tells him to stop when Yuri covers his mouth, heaving like a cat choked on a hairball, tears flowing heavily. He knows he should. He knows he should have a long time ago. He knows he shouldn’t be seeking comfort. He can’t reach out without infecting others: he’s always been told he’s sick, after all.  _ It’s the only thing you can do well, princess, so just take it like a good girl _ . But there’s a sick impulse moving him beyond his own will to say anything, the same that makes one wonder how one’s head would look like splayed on the pavement below them every time they cross a bridge, how their body would look all bloated and floating down the creek. The only difference is that this time he has given in and can’t just stop. “To be thrown on the ground and manhandled? You know what’s it’s like to scream until you can’t hear your own voice anymore? To be told over and over you just had it coming?” And he wishes to blame them, to think it could have been anyone. How he wishes he could forget the weren’t the first one to ever said such a thing. But  _ Faggots are foul and twisted and punished sooner or later. You can’t fool around the consequences of your acts.  _

Yuri bows dows and vomits a thin thread of bile and spit on the floor tiles, gagging as if he wanted to get rid of his entrails too in order to stop them from twirling so much. Something in Otabek tells him to stop, to help, to shut up before he loses Yuri for good. Either because of the disgust or the horror. If he hasn’t already. He only really does it because Yuri lifts up a dripping hand to his face to point at him. “You said fifteen, now you’re saying fourteen. When was it?”

He chuckles. Bites his tongue to not let himself fall on the temptation of wondering how Yuri’s face would look if he reached out and and sucked hard on his finger, twirling his tongue around it. Lets the metal ball on his mouth to clash against his teeth. “They were talkers. Too  _ normal _ to get their ways with a boy. Or too slow. One way or the other, it’s the same. College brats talk too much. That’s all.”

“ _ Talk  _ too much?!” Yuri’s voice sounds raspy and croaked, his tone filled with indignation. He tries to scowl despite the twisted pout, his eyes red and stinging and starting to swell. “They were trying to- to-”

“Trying, well….” There’s little things that can make him feel so rotten, so corrupted like picking up  _ their _ habits. Like mocking other people’s breaking point. Like laughing to stop themselves from kicking your own filth out, to cry out, to scream at the sky, and their sinful heaven and everything they believe in. Like testing how far can they poke at the wound until it bleeds enough. “I can’t give you that number either.”

Yuri stares at him open wide before his chest rumbles and he gags again, rushing to the bathroom. Locking himself in. There’s nothing that can make him feel more dead than to pick up their habits. He giggles. Nothing that makes him feel filthier than to deny himself of his own suffering in their favour. The giggling becomes a full on laughter. Nothing more flailed and skinned alive than to picturing them in front of him, always looking down. No matter how many medals, how much recognition, how many hours of practice. He clutches his hair, burying his fingernails into his scalp deep enough so he can feel himself breathing as he lets it out. The scream of a kid who was never allowed to say a thing. A scream that vibrates in his throat so deeply he feels it’ll snap, that quickly becomes a bawl. He falls on the floor, crying out the years he didn’t have the chance to. Little crybabies get hurt after all. They have to learn how to behave. To learn or to get swallowed by it all. 

He doesn’t know which one is his place on the equation anymore. Or if he can ever get out, join the world Yuri lives in: where people relate and laugh and cry together, and don't force themselves into other people’s bodies. 

He should apologize, wipe it all out. Vivid imagination, bad horror stories as a kid, sheer morbosity. Anything would work. Anything but the truth. He knew, he’s always known - . Yuri couldn’t see this and walk the same man he was. He dreads to see him the moment he steps out of the bathroom. Yet he can barely keeps himself awake, exhausted, aching all over, his flesh remembering so many still fresh sensations he can’t make himself move, walk to the bathroom, just say sorry. Just stop whining like a fucking baby and say sorry.  _ You’re better than this, you’re a man. Men don’t cry. Men stand up and face their duty.  _ Yet all he wants is to close his eyes and leave this all to die. The only thing keeping him still up is the jagged breath, the now almost silent sobbing forcefully making its way through his chest. He’s not yet numb enough to disregard it. 

All he can hear is water running and a hard throbbing in his forehead by the time the streaks have dried on his face, his own hiccuping fainted by the exhaustion finally closing his eyes.

Tomorrow will be a new day. A new life. Today he’s torn himself undone. Tomorrow he can pick up the pieces. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Voslen for helping out with this chapter and as always, for putting up with me <3

Yuri shuffles in his sleep as soon as he hears the grunting; he’s always been a light sleeper, and the habit of waking up early doesn’t help at all. He opens one eye slightly just to peer at the bundle moving under the cover on the floor, a fluff of hair sticking up from the top. It shivers and shakes a bit, groaning. Yuri sits up, stretching his arms high over his head and takes a moment: he hasn’t assimilated all that has just happened the day before. All he remembers is he tried to shield himself from Otabek’s words, from the images on his head, from the pain in his eyes as he talked. The fire. The fire pointing inwards, always consuming within him; Yuri knows it was barely the heat the touched him, the recoil. He was nothing but collateral damage; Otabek was only trying to spit out the the hot coals, the flames roaring inside of him, digging into him, piercing through him.

Yuri dealt with it the only way he felt he could: he couldn’t really run, not again, so he hid. He slammed the door shut and stayed clutched to the toilet, emptying his body of every piece of food he had that day, trying to get rid of the nausea from Otabek’s memories. He decided to stay until he calmed down, but by the time he walked out Otabek was curled into himself on the floor, his breath still hitched as he slept. He took a washcloth from the kitchen (luckily the studio flat he lived in didn’t require a tour) to wash off the mess he’d made on the floor the first time his stomach had given in, and some covers and pillows from Otabek’s ridiculously neat closet for them both. He couldn’t find the heart in him to lift up Otabek’s head to put a pillow under it, anyways; he was terrified of waking him up and hear him crying like _that_ again. As if he needed the world to hear, for once. Until his vocal cords felt like they were going to snap. Yuri decided to just leave it close to the bundle of a man shrinking further under the covers just in case, and lay on the couch. He’d take care of the shitstorm in the morning: the whole thing plus the flight had also drained him of energy.

At least the maelstrom has come and gone now; what’s left is to pick up the pieces. He slides to the floor to do his morning stretches, trying to shake the stiffness of the couch off his bones and _why has Otabek even bought that shit? It’s tortuous._  He’s in the middle of a split, forehead touching the ground, when hears a shuffling noise followed by a soft scoff. He lifts up his head to see the little peek of Otabek’s swollen red shot eyes watching him from under the cover, his feet already stretching out of it. Yuri leans on his elbows to see his friend stretch and groan, bending backwards with a painful moan.

“If I had a bad night on that shitty couch I can’t imagine how sore your back must be.” Yuri chuckles at the wince Otabek does as he sits up.

“What are you doing here?” The sight of Otabek cross legged and rubbing his eyes, the soft sleepiness in his voice, does not do much to dull the sharp edge in his words.

“What do you mean ‘what am I-’?!” Yuri huffs and rolls his eyes. Isn’t it obvious? He came all the way from Russia to be with him. Clearly he means to stay right next to him at least until they can rid Otabek of the debris of this coming and going they’ve been doing for months now. “I’m here to take care of you. It’ll take more than a bit of yelling to kick me out.”

Otabek just stares. It might be disbelief in his eyes but the puffiness and the yawning keeping them fairly closed doesn’t help Yuri finding out. He tries to say something and tilts his head to the side; he regrets it, closing his mouth again. Yuri’s just watching the whole process, trying to figure out what’s going on through his head. He can tell there’s something underneath the traces of an awful night's sleep yet-

“Do what you want.” Otabek stands up on wobbly legs, stretching up. Yuri swears he can hear every joint crack at the same time, echoing in the silence of the room. He sits up just in case when Otabek takes a step back, legs still too weak to hold him properly, but stays put. “I’m taking a shower.”

Yuri just watches him go. The guy might be strong willed and all, but he’s not giving up. Yuri will do whatever it takes to see him well again. He promised Aika that much. Rolling his shoulders back and forth, he thinks of the perfect first step. He’s making breakfast.

 

He hears the scratching of a chair against the floor tiles and doesn’t turn, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes still on the stove on the air.

“I wasn’t expecting ‘what you want’ would be breakfast.” Otabek’s voice sounds tired, slowed down and a bit too low, but not bitter. That’s a good first step as any other, Yuri reckons.

“Well, the first I wanted was definitely food.” Yuri puts a mug of coffee and a plate right in front of Otabek who finally sits down on the table, holding his head in between his hands. Just tea for him: Yuri remembers well the mock argument they had over Skype just because Otabek hates coffee. He brings his own breakfast with him and sits across the table from his too asleep friend to poke him with his fork handle. “Your stuff’s getting cold, come on, Beka.” He sounds like a whiny mother but he’s okay with it. If whining is what’ll make Otabek get on track then whining’s what he’ll get. He grunts as he scoops a piece of pancake on his fork. Good thing Aika was doing groceries: for all he knows Otabek could just live on oatmeal and shit cereal bars. Yuri never saw him eat anything else in his morning snapchat selfies. “Why the fuck do you even own that shit couch anyways? My arms are still fucking numb from sleeping there.”

“You didn’t have to.” Otabek pull his elbows off the table, his tired gaze fixated on him, his shoulders slumped down. “You could have taken the bed.” He adds, taking the mug to his lips, his tone so neutral Yuri feels like crawling over the table to slap him awake wouldn’t be as bad of an idea as he initially thought.

“I couldn’t just leave you there on the floor by yourself!” Yuri winces at the way Otabek corks his brow at him; he’s unnoticedly slammed his hand against the table. But he can’t really be blamed, right? The guy’s being a fucking asshole, practically _asking_ him not to worry and leave. As if that’s gonna happen! He’s not willing to leave Otabek down and bitter and kicking himself for shit (horrible, shit, he’ll give in on that, of course) that has happened and is gone. He’s not been there then, _or_ in Canada, when Otabek was practically begging him to listen. Yuri can never forgive himself for that one: he was so immerse in his own fear… “I meant to take _you_ to bed but what if you woke up? So I just stayed around.”

He hears a low chuckle; wishes he could see it but Otabek’s still covering his obvious smile (and maybe a blush? Or is Yuri imagining the color in his cheeks?). Even then, his eyes glisten, amused. “You wanted to take me to bed?”

Yuri feels the heat of a sudden blush crawling up from his neck to his cheeks. “You know that’s not what I meant!” He yells, only to look away and try to shrug it off, crossing his arms on his chest. “I just… I was checking on you.” He mumbles, “so you wouldn’t get nightmares or something.”

He looks back to see Otabek about to say something when the door opens. His friend doesn’t look half as surprised as he is of the thought of someone just barging into his house; he did yell something at him in Kazakh when he went in last night, after all. He must be expecting random visits at all times or something. He tries to hide the stunned look on his face when he sees the familiar face peering on the kitchen area. He side glances at Otabek, who’s just staring blankly at the guy that just came in, a woman by his hand behind him.

“Hey, champ! Don’t look so shocked!” Nuro always sounds so incredibly happy, despite his bad boy look; he pats Yuri’s shoulder hard enough to make him feel he’s gonna sputter his lungs out. The girl (Aika, now that he can see her) sits right next to Otabek, whispering something into his ear as she lets a finger run from the frown in between his eyes to the tip of his nose. Her brother answers by nuzzling on her shoulder letting his head rest there, eyes closed. Yuri gets up as Nuro sits down on the head of the table, looking for a couple of mugs on the cabinet.

“You’re having breakfast, right?”

“We already have, love,” Aika answers softly, lovingly, as if any loud noise could startled the boy on her shoulder, “but coffee is just fine, thank you.” Yuri walks back with two new cups of coffee and sits, handing them out. “Although a bit of music to shut this silence off would be nice, don’t you think, аз аю?” Yuri tilts his head in confusion, unable to voice it since he’s got a mouthful of honey drizzled pancakes. And some all around his mouth, as well, as usual. Aika can only giggle at the sight, while Nuro gets up to walk to the huge sound system on one corner of the room, near the balcony window. As soon as he chooses an album, a vinyl, Otabek snorts. There must be an inner joke on it Yuri doesn’t fully understand; there’s nothing really funny about the music. Depeche Mode, he can tell, but he was never good at remembering their songs. Not his favourite band, after all. Aika looks at the boy still leaning on her, her voice a murmur loud enough for all of them to hear. “Wanna tell the story, or shall I?”

Otabek stirs and gets up from his sister, quieting down a laugh the second he crosses looks with Yuri, practically smeared with honey. “Yura, you’re a mess.” Yuri scoffs and then his friend laughs. Really laughs this time. He chugs his coffee cup, pretty much cold at this point, to cut down the chuckling, and licks the remains of it off his lips before speaking again. To a pouty messy eating boy across the table. “When Aika was fifteen she had this boyfriend. He was… ” He looks up as if looking for the right word.

“He didn’t like the guy.” Aika jumps in, pointing at her brother with her thumb.

“... a real dick.” Otabek finishes, and Yuri laughs, impressed. Does his friend really _talk_ like that? He hasn’t heard Otabek using that language since…. Well, since he’s known him, with the exception of their fights. But it's understandable then. Seeing him insulting some guy with a completely serious face, as a matter of fact, is a one in a life experience, certainly. “He was.” Otabek clarifies at Yuri’s wide eyes, covering his mouth to try and stifle the giggles. “I sneaked into his apartment (which was fairly easy, by the way) and checked on his stuff. I knew he was cheating on her; I just wanted to find something to prove it. If I just told her she was gonna hate me and the guy wasn’t worth _that_ much trouble.” He stops to let his sister pull his hair out of his face, scratching his scalp softly in the process. Yuri can see the gesture of love it was; they were always this close when they were together, he knows, but it’s still heartwarming to watch. It made him miss Mila a bit, although he’ll never admit it. “I found nothing, but I knew there were some records he kept separated: he had a special love for them.” He points with his head to the sound system. “I took _Violator_ with me. It’s a great album, after all. He didn’t deserve it.”

“He didn’t just have _a special love_ for it.” Aika takes the lead now, propping her arm on Otabek’s shoulder. “It was his favourite. And it’s signed, too. He was so pissy about it, coming at my face to yell at me because it was missing and no one else had a spare key but me, that he told me he was fucking this girl.” She waves her hand in dismissal. “I knew where the album was the moment I heard Beka listening to it in his room, I’m not an idiot, but I didn’t tell him. I just gave the asshole his key back and told him to take the whole thing to the police if he dared. I’d be waiting for them to knock on my door.”

“And?” Yuri asks, leaning on his arms, both palms flat on the table.

Aika holds up her hands, palms looking at the ceiling. “Still waiting.” Nuro is the first to burst out laughing, but his is a visceral, full belly cackle. Rapidly contagious. Before he knows it, Yuri’s bent over the table, grasping at his middle for some air, tears almost rolling on his face. He lifts his eyes up only to glance at Otabek, laughing wholeheartedly, slouching back against the chair, his sister grabbing his hands in one of hers and covering her mouth with the other.

“That’s when we knew,” Nuro adds in between chuckles, “that our boy was made for trouble.”

Aika is already ready to protest, but Yuri beats her to it, spitting out the words before he can think of what he’s saying. “ _Your_ boy?” He looks at the girl, squinting his eyes.

She laughs it off immediately. “We’re not together, we’re good friends, that’s it.” She lifts up the hand that’s still holding Otabek’s as if to prove a point. “We do live together, but that’s just to make the parenting thing easier. I used to live in Astana until Beka told me he was coming back.”

“And I offered him my apartment.” Nuro chimes in, sounding almost offended. “I did! But he wouldn’t take it, so she moved in with me to be closer to her baby brother.” He takes a hand to his heart, brushing an inexistent tear from the corner of his eye with the other. “He came back so grown up.”

There’s a slam on the table and Yuri turns around to see Otabek, elbow propped on it, resting his head on his hand and grunting, “You’re an idiot, Nuro.”

“But, but…” There’s something Yuri can’t wrap his head around. Parenting? Yuri can understand an alternative type of family as much as the next guy: he lives alone with his coaches, bouncing from their home to his grandfather’s to Viktor and his husband’s despite having his own apartment, after all. He knows pretty much everything there is to know about people taking up the place of parents when you actually have none. But. “What about your _parents_ , Beka?”

Silence. Nuro stares deep into Otabek as he pull his hands down, looking away, trying to hide his eyes. Aika’s gaze goes back and forth, trapped in the middle of a silent crossfire. Silent to a point: Nuro huffs, his voice firm. “Either you tell him or I will.” Otabek doesn’t move: he looks hurt, like a child being scolded after dropping a vase. “It’s your story to tell, are you sure?” He shrinks into his chair, letting Aika comfort him with a hand to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Fine.” Nuro sighs and looks at Yuri, speaking calm and collected. “There was this sort of street concert on my block: there were a lot of occupied buildings back in the day, so closing the streetway with some crates and improvising a stage was fairly easy.” Yuri glances at Otabek for a second, only to see Aika murmuring something in his ear, him folding further into himself.

“With this, of course, came the food stands. All free: they were meant to be for homeless people. Or anyone really. When I saw the little kid there, and he was _little_ , brittle, I knew he didn’t belong there. He was wearing too nice gym clothes, for once, and he was clean and well mannered. No one is in that part of town.” Nuro chuckles, “But the boy was hungry. Really. I offered him a plate and he sat with me on my building stairs, without saying a word.” He glances at Otabek who is barely smirking now, the shadow still over his eyes, yet looking back at Nuro so tenderly Yuri just wanted to drape himself over the table and kiss that subtle pout of his. “I swear I was with him for about an hour and I didn’t hear his voice! He didn’t even look angry, or sad, or… Just, you know.” Nuro pass his hands up and down in front of his face, “Nothing. As he does. So I invited him in to phone his parents. I mean, a boy dressed like that clearly had to have someone looking after him. That’s when he changed his face. He jumped back and clutched his knees and went ‘I can’t go back home.’ He wouldn’t tell me why, though.“ He sighs, allowing Otabek to continue. He doesn’t. “I managed to convince him to call his sister, and told her repeatedly not to tell their parents where he was. She was sixteen then, she had no idea what could happen.”

Aika nuzzles into Otabek’s shoulder before continuing, still holding his hand. “I didn’t know what they were capable of. I knew they didn’t… “She stops, a gasp (or maybe a sob?) cutting off her voice for a moment. She takes a deep breath to steady her tone. “I couldn't have guessed. We went to look for him, I thought, but then they stopped at a police station. I didn’t know anything, I just-”

Otabek tries to chuckle; it sounds like a hiss, all fury in his eyes and gritted teeth. “The first time I saw the inside of a police station I was eleven.” He lifts his gaze to stare at Yuri, completely focused on him as he speaks. The blond can feel every hair on his body standing on edge. He doesn’t break eye contact. “The one person that had cared for me that had _fed_ me after four days of stealing whatever I could find or taking half eaten shit out of the trash, was in jail. Because of me.” He smiles that hurt smile of his, and Yuri feels the nausea trying to cling to him again, the memories of last night still fresh on his body. He covers his mouth with his hand, leaning his elbow on the table to hide the disgust on his face, the twisting of his gut. “For _kidnapping_ a child they didn’t want in the first place.”  Otabek’s face contorts for a second and Yuri thinks he imagined it, his friend fighting to stop the tears from falling. The gleam in his eyes still betray him: Yuri can see right through them. “We convinced the cops he did nothing wrong and the charges were dropped, but still…”

“He went back home that night but I’ve found him at my doorstep a lot since. Always with the gym bag, always assuring me that yes, Aika knew, so he could stay. I even sold the couch to put a proper bed in the living room for him.” Nuro laughs like it’s the most harmless anecdote ever but there’s something tense, something vibrating on the air, as if a thunderstorm would fall if anyone made a bad move. Yuri’s positive that if someone will, it’ll be him. He’s the outsider, he’s the one who doesn’t know the codes.

And he’ll fall right into it. “Why?” He turns to Otabek to realize he’s never looked away, studying his every reaction. He shrugs it off: he won’t run now, he’s come all this way to get _actually_ close, without all the make believe, and that he will. No matter how much it hurts. “What have they done to you?”

Otabek smiles, leaning back onto his chair. “Doesn’t matter. I made the name known. They don’t even remember.” He chuckles and Yuri can feel the hatred in his words. Or at least he wishes he does; hatred is cold, visceral, this is different. This is desperate, like clutching onto a sharp rock end to avoid falling into the void. Otabek will fall anyways but with deeper cuts on his palms. There’s no point to it, but he wants to believe it’ll still save him somehow. “As long as the Hero of Kazakhstan can keep the title, and he’s private enough, the rest doesn’t matter,” he practically growls, teeth clenching. Yuri can see the concern on Nuro’s face, Aika just rubs Otabek’s arm as a way to make him feel less lonely, but once he’s started he need to spit it all out. No matter the quivering in his voice, the tears running down his cheeks, the stare glued to Yuri’s. Yuri’s not backing up either: his friend needs him right now, he can do this. “The fighting doesn't matter, the property damage, breaking and entering, the...” He winces when he hears the whimper Otabek tries to swallow down, unsuccessfully. The hand on his arm squeezes harder. He chuckles and Yuri’s seriously starting to hate the painful sound of it. “It’s all water under the bridge as long as-” Otabek’s voice breaks. Aika shakes his head, says something. Probably that it’s been enough. But there’s one thing certain about Otabek: he’s always all in, never does things midway. If he’s started it, he’ll finish it. Yuri is secretly proud of it. He’s also terribly scared of him pulling out every stitch. “As long as-” Otabek runs a hand through his hair, shaking his sister off of him. His voice still hitches when he finally finds the words. “As long as they can forget - as long as no one knows they’ve raised a faggot of a son.”

Yuri feels the stinging almost all the way down to his wrist: his fingernails dug deep into his palm, his fist shaking at the strength he’s using not to break something. His teeth gritting. His eyes still glued into Otabek’s deep stare, trying to find anything less hurtful to say than whatever is coming to his mind ‘Let’s burn their house down’ isn’t an acceptable response, after all. At least not while his little sister lives there. He mouths the start of a sentence and stops. After a few tries he can finally find the words.

“They were at the GPF.”

Otabek tries to wipe his tears away, chuckling. This time for real. That’s one sound Yuri can definitely listen to for a long long time. Yet it doesn’t help with the fire on his mind, the hatred held in his fists. “They were.”

Yuri tries again. “They were there for the ceremony.” He speaks slow and fucking calmly, as if the rage can’t be heard through the venom on his tone. Otabek just nods. “To see you receive your silver.” He doesn’t answer this time, his face morphing with concern. He knows Yuri, and he knows what that tone means. “How-” Yuri seethes, “How dare they?!” He slams both fists on the table. “How dare they?!” He shouts again and even Aika winces this time; Yuri hears Nuro getting up but doesn’t stop. “They’re leeches, Beka, leeches hanging onto you! How dare the fuckers use you like this?!” He sees red; he’s lived around Viktor walking out of his occasional flings’ apartments since he was a kid, he’s never felt pressured about being one way or the other, never judged. He can’t possibly understand why someone would isolate another person for it. He can’t possibly understand why a parent would kick their child out for it to just let them die on the streets. Until they become someone; then they suddenly are their favourite, the prodigy child. Yuri wants to meet Otabek’s parents only to spit in their faces, to make them suffer for every single day Otabek was forced to stay out of his own family home. Until he earns the right to come back. “You’re not a fucking medal, Beka, they can’t treat you like this!” He feels big hands clutching his arms from behind as he tries to jump onto the table to close his distance with his friend, who stands up, leaning on it as a way to let Yuri know he’s listening. “They can’t just _erase_ whatever they’re not comfortable with off of you. You can’t let them just _refuse_ you!” He squiggles in Nuro’s grip but the man is relentless: he cannot get away. “They can’t just pretend you’re not you! They have no ri-!”

His rant gets cut off suddenly; lips clasping his own, making him swallow the spiteful words. He stops moving in the man’s arms as hands cup his cheeks softly, a tongue brushing against his lower lip, asking a silent question. Yuri let his eyes close and his mouth melt on Otabek’s kiss, feeling the taste of honey and coffee in their mouths, tongues dancing against each other, the older boy’s teeth gnawing at his lip before pulling out, their foreheads still touching.

“I know.” Otabek whispers right against his mouth and Yuri feels the pulse of his voice vibrating through his bones. “I know that, Yura, calm down, okay?” Yuri huffs but says nothing, pouting like a little kid. “Fuck, Yura, I’d believe anything that comes out of your mouth: tell me I can pull the sun down with my fingers and I’ll have to try.”

Yuri snorts, still looking defeated, as the hands on his arms loosen their grip to finally move away. “Why would you even do that?”

Otabek laughs (and what a beautiful sight that is) and kisses him once, barely pecking on his lips. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you, Yura?” He pulls back to get down off the table where he had to climb to reach Yuri. The blond hasn’t noticed until now. He stays still as Otabek just half smiles at him, listening to his sister whisper something into his ear.

Yuri’s too distracted still, the tender touch of Otabek’s mouth still lingering on his when the heavy hands fall onto his shoulders. “So, I think we’ll be going. Are you staying, champ, or coming home with us?” Nuro pretty much shouts behind him, his deep voice startling Yuri who stiffens under his hands.

It takes a second to process the words. “I’m staying, of course! That’s what I’m here for, to stay with Beka!”

Otabek widens his eyes for a fraction of a second, but let the shock wash off his face before anyone can notice, letting a smirk take its place instead. Aika just smiles, hands behind her back, and says nothing, looking at both boys back and forth. Nuro cackles. “Of course, of course!” Yet he presses his hands harder on Yuri’s shoulders when he lowers himself to whisper on his ear. “My boy is a bit hard to handle, but the moment I hear something as little as a sniffle, not even a tear, I will come for you.” Yuri feels a cold shiver run down his spine, completely paralyzing. “Smile and nod if you get my point.” He thinks of doing exactly that.

It’s the rational thing to do. The clever thing to do. Just obey: smile and nod and move on. Shrug his words off. But Yuri’s proud, a bit much for his own good. He grabs Nuro’s hands to turn and look at him in the eye, disregarding the obvious differences of height and weight and the fact that the man looks like he can crush someone’s skull in between his biceps. “How dare you even _imply_ that I would do anything to hurt him?!” Nuro pulls up his hands as to declare himself busted. “I would _never!”_

He chuckles before the blond shows his teeth again. The siblings are just staring at them both now, completely silent. “Good to know, kiddo.” Nuro smiles fondly and ruffles Yuri’s hair. He earns a hiss in response.

“We _are_ leaving, though.” Aika declares, looking straight at her friend. “Sorry for the inconvenience, and thanks for the coffee, Yura.” She lets a hand fall on the blond’s shoulder as she walks past him. “You’re a sweetheart.” She turns to smile as her brother, who looks at her just the same way. “Take care, boys, okay? You know where to find me if you need me.”

The house falls silent as the guests close the door behind them, and then a moment longer. Yuri fidgets, rocking himself on the balls of his feet.

“I thought you’d be gone.”

Yuri almost jumps in the air when Otabek’s voice cuts the thick tension between them like a sword. “Why would I?” He looks at his feet, trying to hide the blush spreading on his cheeks as he notices he’s finally alone with Otabek again.

Otabek shrugs, but doesn’t move forward. “Made sense. I thought you’d be horrified.”

“I am.” The words escape Yuri before he can stop them. He looks up to the hurt look on his friend. Shit. “I mean, you’ve met some really shitty people.” Well, what the fuck does that mean, Plisetsky? He scolds himself, looking for anything that can explain the way this all made him feel. Yes, he was disgusted, of course he was: he had to vomit his heart out to feel a little less dirty. He can’t even imagine the things Otabek has to put up with to do so much as get out of bed in the morning. “But you survived it all. And like this, being a medalist and all…” He laughs to himself. Not everyone has that kind of drive. “Fuck, I fucked up my place in the podium for a silly doubt and you’ve moved on from some horrible _nasty_ things and came out on top. It’s-”  He can’t find the words. It’s a warmth that grows inside of him every time he thinks of Otabek. It’s like a shot of adrenaline injected on him. That makes him want to fight further, to climb higher. It’s like when Viktor practiced quad flips Yuri could only dream of doing, it’s… He snorts when he realizes. “I guess I’m proud of you.”

It’s Otabek’s turn now to flush deep red, to hide his eyes, and smile at his feet, laughing shyly. But he does find the courage to move forward and closer to Yuri’s mouth, only to tilt his head to a side and whisper in his ear. “That means a lot coming from you.” He takes a step back to be able to look into his eyes. “Thank you.”

Yuri scoffs and look away, looking for something to focus on, to forget the tightening in his chest,. The fluttering on his stomach. He hates it when Otabek talks like this, all sweet and charming. It does _things_ to him. And he just doesn’t know how to answer. “We should clean all this shit up. I’m just-”

“No, let me. You made me breakfast.” Otabek takes his hands before Yuri can reach the first mug, brushing his nails delicately against the palm. Yuri relies in every ounce of self control that hasn’t faded the moment Otabek touches him to not run into his arms and kiss his lips bright red. And then everything else, too. “You go change, take a shower or whatever. We’re going out.” Yuri tries to pull his hand away, lazily, but Otabek pulls it close, bringing his lips to Yuri’ knuckles. Yuri can only hope his friend hasn’t noticed the gasp, the beat his heart just missed. “I haven’t been out of this place in a while.”

Yuri feels the soft kiss on his hand burning bright, numb by the sudden need of letting those lips travel across every inch of his body, setting him ablaze.

“Yeah, okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I had to wake Leo up with full volume EDM after listening to twenty minutes of his completely ignored alarm.”

“I stole Yakov’s classy vodka by pouring it into an empty Sprite bottle in my room, then filling the bottle back up with water.”

“Bullshit. Those things have their own-”

“Not Yakov’s. He mutilates the bottles to put his own pourers on. Something about ‘the correct way to serve it’. It just makes it easier.”

Yuri feel a warmth spreading through his belly as Otabek’s laughter fills the small room. There’s not much to it: just the bed they’re both laying on, Yuri’s head on top of Otabek’s chest and his feet propped up against the wall, right over the headboard and a closet on the other side of the wall. They’ve been driving around Almaty with no clear destination, just Yuri yelling whenever he felt like stopping, or Otabek asking him where to turn at random. It was interesting not to have a plan, just to let go for once. Otabek has gone through too much shit, having to lose so many burdens from his past, that having a whole day to just let go of themselves, get lost and actually enjoy it, felt like an appropriate response.

How did they end up practically cuddling together, half drunk and playing a stupid game in which each one would offer the other the bottle of vodka Yuri’s currently clutching if his story was petty enough to deserve it. Which was Yuri’s idea. A different Never Have I Ever. He might be a virgin with practically no street smarts but he knew pranks.

Which could explain why he’s feeling already lightheaded.

“Go for it.” Otabek points lazily at the bottle and Yuri takes a small sip, already really self aware of the tingling sensation on his fingertips.

“So? What’s yours?” Yuri looks up to him and grins; he’s secretly loving the way Otabek seems to repress a smile everytime he sees his, biting his lip, his mouth barely twitching upwards.

“You’re good at this. Um.” He puts a finger to his lips, pretending to think - Yuri licks his own almost unconsciously, swallowing the numbness spreading through his flesh. He should probably stop. He knows he should as he can’t stop staring at his friend’s lips for what it seems like hours. Yet, the older man says something that snaps him right out of his daydreaming. “I have one you’ll hate me for.”

“We said fuckbuddies were out of the game, I have none. That's cheating!” Yuri realizes he’s throwing out a tantrum but he’s too out of it to care, staring as Otabek’s gaze flushes darker when he pouts.

“I have _not_ fucked him. I haven’t gone that low. _Yet._ ” Pause for effect. Yuri huffs because it’s getting too damn long and he wants to know. “I’ve kissed JJ once.”

Yuri’s jaw suddenly hangs low, his deep green eyes open wide. “You cannot possibly have liked-”

“Shit, no. Not ever. Not liked.” Otabek crunches his face in disgust. “Besides, he’s straight, so it wasn’t exactly consensual either. But it was well deserved so fuck it.”

Yuri giggles. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never seen Otabek swear so much in a day, which wouldn’t be weird considering they’re drunk, or because of the booze, or maybe a bit of both. “Make this a good enough story, and you’ll have to go bottoms up on this bitch.” He can’t really tell if his own words make sense but he makes Otabek laugh, and that’s good enough for him. He brushes absentmindedly a finger down his friend’s chest, feeling the vibrations of his laughter against his lulled fingers. It’s odd, but it’s nice somehow. He doesn’t look up to check on the older man’s reaction.

“It was a pub. JJ doesn’t go to clubs, too ‘ambiguous’ for him. He’s terribly scared of being hit on by a guy that he could actually call menacing. Not me since I repeatedly told him my bar might be low but not _that_ low. Never that low.” Yuri giggles and a hiccup escapes; he covers his mouth with his free hand, snatching it away from his friend’s frame, to feel the touch of Otabek’s hands brushing the hair from his face, slowly, savoring the touch. Yuri assumes he must be drunk and testing all this weird sensations as well. “These guys came up to us to fight us, called us lovebirds, and JJ felt disgusted. Offensively disgusted, as if telling him he might like a guy is the worst thing that someone could ever say. It was petty and all, but I figured I wasn’t gonna defend him that night, not if he was being that much of a dick, so.” The hand on Yuri’s hair pulls back. Making him look up to his friend’s gaze. It wouldn’t have been awkward if it wasn’t for the moan he didn’t even think of suppressing. Despite the horror in his own face, Otabek only corks an eyebrow and purses his lips together. “Interesting.” Yuri hisses. It only makes his friend laugh a bit more. That’s not a bad thing anyways. “So I kissed him and left him there. The next morning I found out that he was intimidated by those guys for it, but not hurt. So it worked out just fine. He understood he was being a dick in due time and tried to ask me out again, but I really didn’t feel like it. Too risky: I might have to actually punch him the next time.” Otabek frowns, crunching his nose, “or worse, kiss him again.”

Yuri rolls onto his stomach, propped up on one arm to offer the bottle with the other. “You, sir, have fought well and won in good faith. I’m honored for this duel.” He says in a mock gentlemanly tone, and Otabek clutches his chest with both hands, looking like he’s about to cry. Yuri can’t hold the giggles in much longer and just hands the bottle, his chest starting to shake with it. Otabek lifts the drink up as in toast and starts chugging. It’s less than half a bottle of vodka, but Yuri knows he’d have been sputtering half of it by then. Yet it goes down without so much as a wince from Otabek.

“You flatter me,” he manages to spill out after a few seconds, “I must have been no match for your Russian excellence.” He gets a playful punch on his arm for it; still, he laughs. “What do you wanna play? ‘Cause I don’t think you’re well enough for a rematch.”

Yuri tries to sit up and argue, ready to put up some fight, to squeeze some more silly memories out of him. The nice ones, this time. His own body betrays him, making everything spin around him; he pulls his hand in front of him, his legs tucked under his body, and draws circles on his fingertips with his thumb. Otabek just stares. He doesn’t move as Yuri gets closer, tracing his jawline with two slender fingers. He actually tilts his head back to give Yuri space to keep tracking the outline of his throat, the soft bobbing on his Adam’s apple, the tender flesh in between his collarbones…

The moan pulsing against Yuri’s fingers. The hand clasping his, rendering it immobile. “Stop, Yura.” Yuri reacts by actually _whining._ He’d kick himself if he could see what he’s doing a bit clearer over the blurred glass of booze clouding his head. He listens to the little clank of metal, and remembers. And wonders.

“Show me the thing again.” Yuri’s voice sounds almost childish, too slow to sound menacing even if he wanted to. He doesn’t really: he’s just curious. He tilts his head to the side, expecting something out from the guy in front of him. Anything really: his mind is blank, too sleepy to run over the possibilities. He’s surprised by the shy laughter, the averted glance. The way Otabek forgets all self consciousness in a second and turns to him again, penetrating stare digging into him as he licks his lips slowly, pulling out his tongue and curving it at the tip. Yuri lets out a tiny sound in between his closed lips, like a muffled meowl. “How does it feel?”

“The needle?”

“The metal.” Yuri licks his lips, slow enough for Otabek’s gaze to linger on them. It’s not intentional, but whatever he’s doing is working. He doesn’t know what’s exactly his point either, he just wants to feel Otabek’s tongue all over him, licking his numbness away, waking him up from his slumber. “How is it,” Yuri gulps loudly, trying to hide the heat on his face. It could be the booze anyways: all of it could be. “On your skin?”

Otabek gnaws softly onto his lower lip, analyzing his options. Yuri just stares down at him, a hand absentmindedly playing with a few strands of golden hair, while the other lays on his own grip. His usually bright eyes look glassy, clouded. “You’re drunk, Yura, you shouldn’t ask those things.” Otabek crawls on the bed, pushing Yuri carefully by his shoulders against the headboard; the blond just snorts and giggles, stealing short kisses from his lips. “You need to rest.”

“Fiiine,” Yuri whines, stretching out the word in a huff. He pats the spot next to him on the bed, pouting as if he would cry if his friend didn’t sit with him. Otabek just has to oblige, leaning close enough so his shoulders brush, and Yuri lets his head drop to nuzzle against the crook of his neck, taking in the musky scent of the older boy’s skin, mixed up with the smells of the city and the huff of leather. He feels the shivers his own breath pulls out of Otabek, as subtle as they try to be, and smirks. He might not be the only one oversensitized by the alcohol, after all. He tries a temptative brush of his lips, softly going from the man’s collarbone and up, painfully slow; he smiles at the gasp he gets in response. Decides to raise the bet, barely tasting the salt on his friend’s skin with the tip of his tongue.

He hears the bitten down groan almost immediately. “Stop, Yuri.” He’s not too out of himself to notice Otabek just called him by his actual name; he’s being serious. Yuri reaches out to look at him, squinting his eyes, trying to find something in the poor excuse of a blank mask on his face. Otabek’s cheeks are flushed, his lips pressed too hard, his eyes closed. He’s trying hard to keep all of it bottled up, whatever ‘it’ may be. Yuri feels a stinging in his chest: it has to be because of him. He’s gotten stupidly drunk around strangers, fucked people in awful places. He must have gotten smashed with Leo too, sharing stupid stories they barely remember the morning after; he doesn’t need Otabek to tell him that, he’s sure of it. They’ve spent too much time together. Too much more that he has. Too many things he hasn’t shared with him, even though the American boy assured him Otabek was anything but sweet around him, kicking him out of the bed or walking out on him more often than not. Otabek might be exceptionally nice to Yuri, but he’s still putting up a wall in between them.

“Beka, look at me.” He sounds like a crying puppy, which fits perfectly well with the big doe eyes he points at his friend. Otabek reaches out to tangle a blond lock in between his fingers, but gets distracted by the purr Yuri lets out when he scratches his scalp right behind his ear. By the way he closes his eyes and leans on his hand, presenting his bare neck (and all Otabek can think of is how it would look like covered and tiny red bites). By the curve of his mouth, his teeth trapping his lower lip and releasing it in an impossibly tender gesture. By the hunger, the wanting aching on Otabek’s belly, rushing down. Yuri opens his eyes again. “Did you like any of them?”

“Mh?” It’s not like Otabek didn’t understand the question. Sure, as soon as it got out of Yuri’s lips he didn’t, but he was too dizzy, drunk on vodka and the vision that was Yuri completely unshielded, bare to him and pleading; he did understand it a second later, yet he wanted to play dumb for just a second longer. He couldn’t just say it, not again. _I didn’t, never, not one. I needed an escape from myself, they were just pretty and anonymous enough._ “Guess I did. They were…” Available? Non-threatening enough? Just there? He can’t find an answer innocuous enough to drop the subject, to not worry Yuri further. “Attractive. There’s not much more to it, really.”

“No. No, like-” Yuri puffs out his cheeks as he thinks, huffing the air out. Otabek has to stop himself from kissing him giggly again it’s so adorable. “ _Like_ like. Did you _like_ like any of those?”

Otabek snorts, avoiding his gaze. _Like like_ . Really, now? The snorts becomes a chuckle that becomes an actual laughing fit and the next thing he knows is that he’s holding a hand to his aching stomach from laughing so much with a giggly idiot laid across his legs, his hair messy and sprawled in every direction. He tries to breathe deep a couple of times, to find some space to squeeze out the words; he brushes little tears forming in the corner of his eye. “Believe it or not,” he starts, suddenly losing himself in the way Yuri focuses on him, eyes wide and sparkly as if he’s about to hear the best guarded secret in the universe. Otabek laughs at the thought: it’s hardly a secret at all: even Leo knew and he was dense as a brick wall (he’s sure that’s not how the phrase goes, but his mind is too busy remembering every way he’s ever picture Yuri and the taste of his skin, the soft touch of it, the tremble when he’s about to climax… He just can’t correct himself). “I have not _like liked_ a lot of people.” _Only you_ , he refuses to add.

“Do you want me?” Otabek chokes when the words come out perfectly loud, perfectly clear out of a supposedly really drunken boy. It’s the sudden straight forward tone of it all what startles him, coming from someone who couldn’t use the word _love_ barely minutes ago. “You’ve kissed me like you do. But you must have kissed them too.” Yuri pauses for a second to rearrange his thought and Otabek dreads his words. He can see where this all is going. “You’ve - “

He can’t stand the words coming out of his mouth. He can’t stand the thought of Yuri, _his_ Yuri, comparing himself with the shadows behind him. “Of course I do.” He bites his lip, he’ll say, to stop the grinning. Not the words trying to push out from his chest. “How could I not? You - ”

“Then why don’t you _do_ something about it?” Yuri cuts him off, sitting up and squirming on his lap, to straddle him. All of Otabek’s self control seems to fly out the window as he feels the boy pressing against his pulsing cock. He wants to speak, to beg for Yuri to stop moving. Or to just fuck him senseless. Any of those will do. He still says none. “I want you too.” Yuri presses down, moving his hips back and forth and Otabek just _loses it_. He clenches his teeth to stop himself yet the low growl still escapes him. His hands fly to grab Yuri by his waist, guiding the motion more than stopping it. He can’t help but drowning himself in the deep green of his stare, clouded in lust, asking for him. He was never good to say no to him. Specially when he doesn’t want to. “I want you.”

Otabek’s hands crawl down, cupping Yuri’s ass and pushing him forward; he takes the boy’s lips in his, swallowing every little whimper, muffling his own moaning against Yuri’s eager kiss. He chuckles when his tongue brushes the little metal ball over Yuri’s tongue, pulling a loud groan out of him. Still, Yuri breaks the kiss, all flushed and panting and Otabek swears he must look the exact same way. The blond reaches for his shirt with clumsy fingers, feeling the thin line of hair from his nape to his chest in the process, tentatively pulling; Otabek would be embarrassed at the way his hips thrust forward with every pull if he could just put his thoughts in order. All he knows is that his precious Yuri is on top of him, and touching him, and this is so incredibly unlike anything he’s felt before, this is not desperate, this is not sedating. This is everything there is right now, and the image of Yuri struggling with his own shirt, pressing himself against him, mewoing at the sparks every time they touch, will be forever imprinted in his retinas. This is all there is. This is all there must be.

Otabek pushes Yuri up and turns to settle him sitting with his back against the headboard, only to grab onto his hair, tugging to hear that little intoxicating whimper again, and kisses him hard, closing the distance between them, feeling Yuri’s voice vibrating through his chest, delicate hands running from Otabek’s chest, nails digging into his flesh as if for support, running down, framing every curve of his muscles to fidgets around the button of his jeans. Why the fuck did he decide to wear fucking jeans today? He pushes himself off to unzip his own pants, kicking them off along with his underwear, and kneeling back in between Yuri’s legs. The blond’s face has most definitely changed, staring at his now unbound erection; he guesses Yuri just mouthed a ‘ _holy fuck’_ and leans forward to kiss him softly: once on his lips, once on the line of his jaw, once further back, right next to his ear. “We can stop if you want.”

Yuri whines and pulls him back for a kiss, holding their foreheads together when he pulls apart. “No.” And every little thing that comes out of him sound like a painful plea; Otabek feel his insides lit ablaze, craving for the blond more than he’s ever imagined, pulsating at his every touch. Yuri needs to call him out now, to say no or he’ll drown himself in him, a sea of salt and blunt nails scraping onto his skin and fine hair bristling under his lips and muffled cries for more. He’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. “But _that_ is…” Yuri looks down, licking his lips in the process, and his own cock twitches at the attention.

“I won’t hurt you. I could never.” Yuri stops whatever Otabek’s about to say, gnawing at his lip to pull him into a sweet, slow kiss. “Although,” Otabek goes on in between little pecks, “What was it,” He licks at Yuri’s lips, “you wanted to know before?”

Yuri moves the hand holding Otabek in place by the back of his head to push him against his own neck, groaning loudly when the older man’s tongue teases him only to fall flat and brush the piercing down his skin, making him shiver against the touch. Otabek can get easily used to this, having Yuri coming undone, trembling and gasping and whimpering underneath him. He keeps traveling down, in between laps of his tongue and fingernails barely touching Yuri’s skin, making him squirm and tug harder at his hair, only encouraging him further. Yuri’s free hand shoots up from where it was grasping the bed sheets to his mouth to stifle the loud cry that comes out of him the second Otabek flicks the little metal ball against his nipple to capture it in between his lips, his tongue teasing at the tip. Yuri arches his back and pulls him down, eager, yet Otabek runs his teeth over his abs while going down hard enough for Yuri to notice the change, and looks up. “The walls are soundproof.” He moves his hips forward to meet Yuri’s crotch and the blond groans into his hand. “Take that away from your mouth. I wanna hear you.”

Yuri looks hesitant, but he lets Otabek take his bitten down hand while the other falls limp in between his shoulderblades; his eyes grow wide as he loses himself in the intense eye contact of that deep brown stare, as the older man kisses his knuckles, his fingers, brushing his fingertips against already dry lip, and pushing forward, licking softly on his index and middle finger to earn a small gasp. Sucking deep, this time getting a muttered profanity out of the blond. He twirls his tongue around his fingers and lets them go with a clear pop. Yuri hisses, trying to sound menacing and not like the puddle of his old self he’s feeling like right now, completely drowned in _so much._ “Go. The fuck. Back down.”

Otabek chuckles, never leaving his eyes, “As you wish.” He kisses softly over the marked line of Yuri’s hipbone, following it down, and Yuri’s breath hitches at every stop. He only breaks eye contact to jump from the soft touch of his lips against the short blond hairs, so painfully close to his throbbing dick, to pull himself off and Yuri’s hip up so he can rip those damn leggings off of him, underwear and all thrown randomly across the room. He falls back to trap the pale skin on Yuri’s  inner thigh in between his lips, biting down. He hears both a frustrated groan and a little yelp. He can definitely get used to this. He keeps on gnawing on the tender flesh, parting every time with a little lick, going softly up. Yuri spreads his legs wider, his hand reaching down to tangle Otabek’s long hair in his fist. He closes his fist harder, moaning louder than he thought he could, when Otabek laps at his thigh and suddenly traps the tip of his cock with his lips, sliding all the way down. He twirls his tongue around his shaft, the piercing pressing in, and Yuri sees stars behind his closed eyelids.

Otabek can feel the moans, the shakes of Yuri’s body pulsing through his skin more than he can hear them, flicking his tongue over the tip of Yuri’s cock and right back down, tentatively brushing softly over his balls, earning a little buck up of his hips. He closes his lips on him to keep going down, his tongue reaching to Yuri’s rim… The blond flinches. Not good, Otabek decides and kisses his thighs once more as to assure him everything is fine to go back to tease the tip of Yuri’s cock, sucking hard only to let it all the way in in a sudden movement, and bobbing his head up and down his length.

Yuri arches his back, letting the motion roll over his spine like a wave, bucking his hips forward, burying himself deep into Otabek’s mouth. The man’s hands rest on both side of his hips, following the undulations, once, twice. They push hard into the mattress the third time, the lewd pop of his dick being released, a thread of saliva still hanging in between him and Otabek’s parted lips; he tries to squirm out of the grip and whines when he realizes he can’t.

“A bit too anxious, aren’t we?” Otabek reaches back to take Yuri’s hand out of his hair and settle it around the blond’s cock as he sits up in between his legs; his cock leaking and demanding attention. But this night is Yuri’s and he’ll make sure it’s the best that can be. The raw arousal pressing on his lower belly tells him that it could even be enough for himself, too, so eager to see Yuri come under his ministration he could just follow.  He leans in to steal a delicate kiss from the boy’s jagged, bitten down lips, to whisper, “Wait for me a bit, okay?” All Yuri can do is nod and follow Otabek to the other side of the room, his eyes fixated in the slow steps he takes, the way he leans and arches his back to reach a low drawer, the soft curve of his calves, his toned legs, slightly parted, that beautiful ass…

Otabek turns around to see Yuri watching his every move, his hand caressing himself slowly, short gasps coming out of the blond’s mouth. He strides through the room to kneel right in between Yuri’s legs again, throwing something Yuri can’t care enough to check what it is on the mattress, smirking. He licks his lips before pulling one of Yuri’s legs over his shoulder to kiss his thigh lovingly. “Do you still want to keep going?” Yuri lets out a desperate ‘ungh’, pulling his hip off the mattress to get his point across. Otabek takes that as a ‘Yes’. “Wanna see a cool trick?”  

Yuri can’t do more than nod, feeling already lightheaded, heavy, like his body’s flooding with sensations he can’t process at once, overwhelmed. His eyes still widen when he sees the little foil package in between Otabek’s fingers getting rapidly ripped open; a hand on his pulling away to brush the tip of his dick slowly, forming circles before wrapping the condom around it. His mind goes blank the second he feels Otabek leaning down, breathing warm against his skin, his mouth enveloping him again, tightly, to push the condom down. “Beka…” He can barely hear his own voice anymore, engulfed in the prickling of his skin, the hot touch of Otabek’s, all of him, from his careful fingers to _the things that tongue can do._ “Beka, please…” Otabek moves to straddle the blond, half lidded gaze and pleading. He kisses his lips while reaching out for the bottle of lube on the bed, popping it open with one hand; Yuri opens his eyes as he hears the sounds. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Beka.” He pouts and Otabek just has to reach down and gnaw at his mouth.

“You won’t. Promise.” Otabek lets a good amount of lube fall onto his fingers, spreading it thoroughly; he licks Yuri’s lip, asking for entrance, and the blond concedes. His fingers run up across his own tight and back; the kiss gets cut off by Otabek’s loud, deep moan the moment his fingers curls up inside of him. He’s done this plenty of times, but he feels the need this time not to hide, to look straight at Yuri’s eyes; the boy seems worried at first, but he lets go as the grunts become louder, his hips rolling back and forth against his fingers on their own. He lets his head tilt back, his chest heaving, his toes curling underneath him. He’s way too close, he needs to stop. He feels Yuri dart forward to kiss and lick and gnaw at his neck and lose the little bit of self control he’s got left, if there was any: he takes his fingers off of him to envelop Yuri’s dick, positioning it right below him.

He hears a gasp on the crook of his neck as he lowers himself down, slowly. Yuri’s voice quivers, letting out a small mewed whimper that grows louder as Otabek takes every inch of him in; Otabek holds it down, the sensation filling him up, a heat lighting up inside of him, burning so high he feels himself melting around Yuri. He cries out as his body grows accustomed to it, hissing a ‘fuck, Yura’ through his teeth he can barely hear. Must be because the way his head is flooding with noise, and touches, and warmth and that green stare he can help but get lost in, hungrily glued to him, running up and down his body. Otabek moves a hand from in between them to Yuri’s belly, up across his chest to his shoulder and back on the headboard, the other resting on Yuri’s middle, holding himself up. Yuri leans forward, trying to find a way to ask for it, yet he can only think of one thing. Otabek smiles as the blond licks his lips, and bucks his hips forward, Yuri’s cock resting against his prostate. The sole motion sends jolts down his spine; Otabek rolls his eyes as he keeps on rocking back and forth on Yuri’s lap, lewd noises coming out of him in between curses. He’s been on a situation like this more than once, but… No. He really haven’t: he’s fucked and been fucked by his fair share of partners, but no one could move him like this, striking something at his core, make him wish he could just have this forever. That he could lay in Yuri’s arms forever, feeling him inside, drowning on the ecstasy of his stare, letting the fire consume him. This is nothing like the shadows; this is light, this is pure, and complete, and…

Yuri digs his fingers deep into his flesh, grabbing Otabek by his ass to pull him all the way up and slamming him back down, janking a sudden growl out of him. He flinches a bit, but Otabek follows his lead, jumping up and down on his cock forcefully, letting his head fall on Yuri’s shoulder, grunting his name at every thrust. Yuri tries to hold Otabek down with lulled, limp fingers, incapable of forming a word other than his friend’s name, and even that’s probably too jagged and breathy and heavy to be understood. He moans, and groans and cries out a silent scream when he finally hits climax, his dick twitching inside, yet Otabek doesn’t stop, barely a few thrusts away from his own. Yuri does scream then, when he feels Otabek clenching around him, pressing over his too sensitive skin, coming over his chest, growling on the crook of his neck; his whole body feels both numb and on fire at the same time, too delicate to be touched, too heavy for him to lift up.

Otabek lifts his head from Yuri’s shoulder to press their foreheads together, staring at those beautiful eyes once more, even when he can feel his own struggling to stay open. Yuri’s eyes can definitely perform magic on him, breaking him whole and putting him back together again, newer, more complete than before somehow. Even when that doesn’t really makes sense. Yuri’s picked him up more times than he can count, even when he doesn’t really know it. Back at Yakov’s camp, when he realized he wasn’t ‘trying to break his family apart’, when he really knew that the blond little kid was going to be a very important part of his life, whatever that means. Back at his first night on hostile grounds, when he had to sleep in his coach’s living room, dirty and already spoiled, something starting to rot inside of him, but the rest clutching onto the image, the idea of meeting the soldier again. Yuri wouldn’t back down, no matter what. He would expect Otabek to do the same, to be his equal. And that he’d be. Just this morning, when Yuri was willing to fight someone three times his weight just to defend his own right to be around Otabek, even though Otabek himself’s basically escaped the second he was confronted by Yuri’s coaches. Yuri could clean him whole, could make him feel things he hasn’t felt before. Could take the shadows away, replacing them with his own kisses, his own touches, warm but not scolding, eager yet not painful. He could take all of it away.

Otabek can’t stop himself from drowning into Yuri’s eyes. They could perform magic on him. He hides back into the curve of Yuri’s neck, holding him tightly, and Yuri responds the same way, planting little kisses from his collarbone to his shoulder and back.

Yes, he can get used to this. And never get enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek wakes up in the middle on the night, taken aback by the warmth around his middle, the tickling on the tip of his nose, the calm breathing on his face. He blinks a few times and remembers where is he again: not the lower streets of Almaty, not under the relentless cold of the night, hungry and alone; but in his own bed, safe and showered clean, his hands gripping tightly on the shirt of the guy that has been on his mind since what it feels like forever, sleeping soundly beside him. He allows himself to smile, to relax. He rolls onto his back and takes a few deep breaths, the smell of his shampoo on Yuri’s hair filling up the room. He doesn’t move when he feel the stirring next to him.

“What’s wrong, Beka?” Yuri nuzzles into his neck, holding him tighter to bring him close. “Can’t sleep?”

“I was thinking about something.” He looks for the right words, but he lets the thought go. The right words seem to always be the wrong ones: all that he is is all that he has. It’s all he wants to offer to Yuri. He just doesn’t know how. “There’s one number you didn’t mention.”

Yuri scoffs and it tickles under Otabek’s ear. “Are you gonna make me feel sick again? Can’t we do this in the morning?” He sounds like a little whiny kid, but only because he secretly knows it works almost everytime.

Not this one. “No.” Otabek turns to kiss his forehead, the dark hiding the dark red cheeks on both of them. Neither is used to the intimacy still, but they’re both willing to pretend. “And no. Twelve.” He looks back up, focusing his eyes on an empty spot on his ceiling; not that there is much more to see there anyways.

“Twelve is a small number.” Yuri grunts, drawing circles on Otabek’s chest with his index finger. “What happened?”

“I traveled out of Kazakhstan for the first time then.” Otabek recalls and winces at the memory: the leaving dug in too deep, his parents, his brother not even looking at him; his sisters in tears, making him promise over and over to call them, to write to them, to train a dove or whatever, just not to leave them drifting. He promised to them he’ll resist whatever he needed to, and train as hard as humanly possible, to go back for them. “I was emancipated so I could travel on my own during my career: it wasn’t an odd thing for Kazakh skaters since we all end up training elsewhere at some point.” He chuckles and Yuri presses his lips to Otabek’s throat, more to feel the vibrations of his laughter than to kiss him, Otabek guesses. Still, he takes in the warmth of it. “I was slinged down then: I wasn’t good enough to even be with kids my own age.”

“Hey, I know that story.” Otabek can’t quite pinpoint if it’s fondness or just sleepiness what’s on Yuri’s tone. It sounds like honey to his ears no matter what.

“I’ve met the love of my life there. The one I could not grow out of. I’ve been fighting for that ever since. To be worthy.”

Yuri laughs this time. “Skating? The medals? That’s cheesy even for you, Beka.”

“No. Close enough, though.” He shifts so he’s on his side, one hand cupping Yuri’s cheek while the other falls onto the blond’s hip. He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, even when his lip already started quivering. He thanks the dark for covering the tears that were starting to form at the corner of his eyes. If twelve year old Otabek would see this, he’d resisted the meltdown, wouldn’t have ran off the ballet lesson to never come back. If fourteen year old Otabek could, he would have fought with nails and teeth each and every one of the college fuckers, knowing he could get there. No matter what he could get there, he would have his soldier in his arms, smiling at him. If fifteen year old Otabek could see him, sixteen year old… If eighteen year old Otabek could see him, blind in the light of that fiery stare, he would have taken the boy’s hand again and again and again, running off with him, knowing that it was the start of so much. And he’d finally be full. He’d finally be happy. “I’ve met you.”

“Beka…” He doesn’t quite know if it’s just the dark playing tricks on him or Yuri’s eyes actually widen. He does know the hand lazily draped on his middle is now gripping him tight, as if he were a mirage about to vanish the second Yuri let go.

“You’ve been….” He can’t even start explaining when he feel the warmth of tears on his cheeks. Dammit, he thought himself stronger than this, but it’s overwhelming. As if his body was filling up with this fluttery feeling, this pink colored sensation flooding from the inside out, telling him that for once, this time _everything will be fine._ He’s never been sure about anything in his life. Nothing but that he needed to reach Yuri. And he finally has. He can’t be happier. He can’t pull the words out. “Yura, I…”

“Beka…” Yuri pulls his hand up to Otabek’s cheek. “Beka, are you-?”

“I love you.”

He feels the hand move from his cheek to his shoulder, pushing his back on the bed. Yuri straddles him, his hands threading into his hair while Otabek’s fall automatically on Yuri’s waist. “Are you crying, you idiot?” He kisses the tears away from one side of Otabek’s face. “What are you even crying for? I love you too.” He kisses the other side, soaking his lips on the salt. “I love you, you sappy moron.” He finally traps Otabek’s mouth in his, and a chuckle escapes the older boy when he pulls out.

“I’m just happy, Yura.” Otabek pulls one hand out of the blond’s waist to brush his tears off.

“You cry when you’re happy?” Yuri’s tone sounds playful. Giddy.

“Apparently,” Otabek take some locks of Yuri’s hair, still wet from the shower, to pull Yuri into a kiss, “I do.”

Yuri doesn’t move up again. “I should give you a lot of water to drink then.” He kisses him swiftly, sweetly. “You’ll dehydrate.”

“Yeah.” Otabek brushes his finger delicately against Yuri’s cheek, lingering at the edge of his mouth, feeling how it twitches upwards when he speaks. “You should.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The ending.  
> I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.  
> There's still a ton of stuff to come and you can always suggest what you wanna read, what plot holes I should work on, etc.  
> Also, you can always find me as muspellssynir in Tumblr and PM me.  
> Thanks for the love and the support, as always. You make me wanna keep on writing with every comment <3
> 
> Well, enough of this. Enjoy the last bit.

It feels silly now. The things they’ve said to each other. The stupid amount of effort they’ve put to find each other again. The bliss it’s been ever since.

Sure, it could always be easier: Otabek could have a normal happy family, and so could Yuri. They could live in the same city, or at least in the same country. They could see each other more, they could use more free time instead of spending their wholes days on the ice. But this being a bit harder than usual doesn’t make it impossible. Doesn’t make it less valid. Doesn’t make it non-existent.

At all, thinks Yuri, as he listens to the new audio message Otabek left him while he was on the ice: it’s his boyfriend’s way to let him know Zhamila’s been visiting. They record something together fpr him, mixing the girl’s powerful voice with Otabek’s sweetness, and the bass guitar plays along, melting perfectly in between. Some songs, like these, were in Kazakh and Yuri didn’t understand the lyrics, but the fluctuations in Otabek’s voice says more than any perfectly built poem in Yuri’s ears.

“What are you listening, Kitten?” Mila’s been also more cheerful than usual lately. Even though he’s pretty sure there’s no one in sight. Not a constant someone, at least. She sits on the rink wall he’s leaning in, right next to him. “Is that from your boooyfriend?” She sings loud enough for the whole rink to turn around. It’s not like they don’t know; they’ve put the pieces together the first few weeks and he got tired of denying it. Not that he’s said who he’s dating. He’s scared that any of them might be capable of making it somehow public. At least a little bit public could go batshit crazy in no time, knowing how the angels were. They’ve stopped any and all public communications on Instagram, and never posted any pictures together, settling for their own private conversations. Not that Yuri has a problem with that: Otabek always texts much more and much faster privately, without having to calculate his words or check if this or that picture is decent enough for the public.

And damn, they mostly aren’t. The boys live alone, after all: it’s not like you’re obligated to put on pants to walk through your own house, right? Specially when he’s expecting the pretty much daily call from a certain Kazakh hottie he happened to have been teasing all day. Yuri does love to play games. Otabek just loves to step right into the trap. Neither ever really lose.

“Quiet down, Baba!” Yuri scoffs at her, but doesn’t stop her from looking at his screen. He did check for pics and there were none in sight; there’s no immediate danger. “He’s just saying good morning, okay? Relax.”

Mila hums and looks away, grinning. Yuri knows exactly why. Not that either of them would say it aloud though. He’s seen that face in Aika on Skype, staring up at her brother. Lovingly. They're happy for them both. Like good big sisters.

Not that Yuri will ever call Mila that. It’d be extremely weird. Not that she _needs_ him to either; she must know how he feels by now, right? She’s one of the first that heard about all of it. The first one to hold him when he needed to, who ran to him when he asked. The one he texted on the plane back (Guess who has a boyfriend now?) after a week of keeping his phone off, ignoring every other text. The one that texted him back a five minute squeal. That he played confidently with his headphones on and almost costed him his fucking hearing, thank you very much.

He hears a whistling behind him (and a scream from Yakov for Mila to go back to the rink, of course) and blocks his phone right away, keeping it close to himself so it can’t be snatched. “What do you want now, geezer?”

Yuri snaps out at Viktor, now standing behind him. The man doesn’t even drop that stupid heart shaped smile off his face. “Now, Yurio, is you beloved sending you cute little things again? May I see?”

“No!” He turns around, stomping his way to the locker rooms. “Mind your own fucking business!” He can hear the idiot laughing and swooning behind him, talking about what a beautiful couple Yuri and his boyfriend make.

When he doesn’t even know who the guy is.

Yes, Yuri thought of actually breaking the news to him, but after all that had happened he guessed Viktor was capable of flying all the way to Almaty to try and intimidate Otabek. And probably come back a bit too bruised. After all, his whole gang is there, and there are some fierce ones, too; if one gets bullied, all of them jump to the rescue. It could have gotten pretty ugly. So, of course, Viktor doesn’t _quite_ know yet. No more than the fact that yes, Yuri has a boyfriend. And said boyfriend has a musician for a sister. And they both sing cute things for him sometimes. And that Mr. Boyfriend sends snaps almost constantly, even when Viktor hasn’t actually seen a single one of those. And that the guy cooks, and makes music, and trains like crazy, and lives alone, and calls Yuri every single day.

All little things that make the guy the perfect boyfriend in Viktor’s eyes. And that’s all he needs to know.

Yuri quickly takes his gym bag and leaves to get to Lilia’s in time.

That’s all Viktor needs to know.

 

* * *

 

 

He still cringes at the memory.

Yuri almost squealed when he got the news. And Mila was right beside him on the plane, waiting to take off. And the gross couple right behind, his coaches taking the seats after them. He felt the _entire plane_ glaring at him. He couldn’t have shrunk any further on his seat, Mila giggling when she read his phone screen. A picture of a neat line of bikes, one bigger than the next, black and red and green and chrome glistening under the sun with the caption _date? See you in Moscow_. Neither of them needed any more to understand what was about to go down. They’ve learnt enough about the bikers now; Mila could even spot which bike belonged to who, even when one of them had three he switched off whenever he felt like it.

Luckily, it was a short flight to Moscow, or else he was about to strangle Viktor with the cord of the oxygen mask if he had to hear him one more minute trying to pry into his life.

And now Yuri still cringed at the thought. While they were having lunch together in a pretty little cafe, too cute and frilly and pink for his own guts not to twist and turn; too expensive for the shitty little hole-in-the-wall type of spot it was put on. Still, the food’s good enough and it’s not like he’s paying anyways; he’ll survive this. He hopes. He’s got a bad run to cut, and he’s much more confident in his body now that he’s finally stopped getting taller overnight; enough to ace most of his jumps easily, at least. He’s ready to get back into the podium, to snatch the gold again for himself.

“Is your boyfriend coming to see you, Yurio?” He can only hope he survives. He hisses at the sound of Viktor’s voice, snapping him out of his thoughts, and glares daggers at him. “He must be, you were so excited on the plane!”

“Shut it.” Damn him and his fucking excitement. And Otabek’s perfect timing. Damn it all to hell. At least he’s finally going to see his boyfriend again. In person, not through a grainy lagged camera, chopping up his gestures, his smiles. One of those grins alone and all this embarrassment will be worth it. It won’t matter anymore. None of this charade will.  For one tiny moment there’ll be nothing more than Otabek and him and the happiness they bring up in each other.

Yuri can’t wait.

“Are you gonna introduce him to us?” Viktor eyes light up. Yuri’s face goes positively white. He’s so not ready for this. Viktor is not only the one who started this whole mess (alright, he _might_ have to eventually thank him for it, but still) and got really into the idea that Otabek was the worst scum on the face of the Earth, but he also happened to be the worst loudmouthed idiot in the story of obnoxious ice skaters. And yes, he’s counting Chulanont on it, too. Not anyone can defeat Chulanont on that position. He can’t possibly-

“They haven’t seen each other in weeks and you want them to spend their time together with us hijacking their date?” Mila chimes in, almost offended at the thought, a hand flat against her heart. “I could _never.”_

“Oohhh,“ Viktor takes a finger to his lips, still grinning like an idiot, as if he knows something everyone else is completely unaware of. If he only knew. “So, you two will need some alone time, huh?” The color comes back to Yuri’s face. Immediately. Such a bright shade of red he’s certain he could step onto the side of the roads and cars would stop just in case. “I see-”

“Oi, man, what the hell!” He practically jumps off of his spot on the booth yet Viktor just laughs it off, waving a hand at him.

“You know, you just need to say the word and I’ll leave you boys alone do you can _catch up_.” Yuri gags at the wink directed at him. He cannot possibly be listening to all this shit. It just can’t be happening. Viktor cannot be actually talking about his sex life, which by the way he knows absolutely nothing about, on a diner right next to his fucking coaches. No way. Not happening.

“Viktor, we’re _eating._ Be proper.” Lilia scowls at the gigantic moron, a voice so stern it would make the toughest of guys’ blood turn cold. She has that thing about her: no one dares to step in her way. And they do good; it’s not smart to mess with Lilia Baranovskaya. Yuri doesn’t even need to be yelled at: one glance and he sits back down, his back perfectly straight.

Viktor practically hides behind his husband, linking arms with him, and winks again. “Fine, but we’ll take you both to dinner tonight. So be dressed!” Yuuri blanches and takes a good gulp of his wine. Mila giggles, because of course she does. Yakov actually sputters, choking on a piece of bread bad enough that Lilia has to pat his back for him to go back to breathing properly again. Yuri just growls, focusing on his phone. Anything before reminding himself that he need an excuse to kick Viktor out tonight and he can’t find one. He’s skating in three days, he can’t suddenly get sick. Or lose his phone and miss the call, since Viktor’s room is just down the corridor from his. He remembers he still has someone to warn.

> _lets stay in tonight. Old geezer looming_

 _ < As you wish, _ _Tiger. Two hours, your room?_

_ > sounds like a plan _

Yuri’s fingers hovers over the keyboard, a thousand possibilities creeping into his mind. I love you? Too simple, too cheesy. Good thing you’re not skating at this cup ‘cause I’ll fuck you senseless tonight? Accurate, yes; but a bit much, maybe. I miss you? Damn, he’s starting to sound like Viktor; that shit really is contagious.

“Are you talking to him? You’re all blushy and smiling cute!” Viktor reaches out to poke his cheek but Yuri reacts quickly, slapping his hand away.

“Go back to fondling your husband and leave me alone, you old perv.” He scoffs into his phone as Viktor sighs besides him, leaning in to beg a kiss from Katsuki. Yuri can’t help it but peek at them.

> _cant wait_

“It’s not _that_ bad.”

 

* * *

 

 

“God, Beka, your taste for shit romantic flicks never ceases to amaze me.” Yuri feels the rumble of Otabek’s chuckle echoing into his ribcage where his head rests. They always fall into the same routine: playing and teasing until they can finally talk to each other, for all of their tauntings to melt into cute words and warm tired smiles in the middle of the night and ‘I wish you were here’ when they finally do. It’s only to be expected that after the desperate kisses the second Yuri opened his door, the frantic touches, the thirst pulsing on Yuri’s skin, finally clenched and sucked dry by Otabek’s mouth, they fall back into their much relaxed nature. Of cuddling and silly fights about music and movies and which cat is cuter. It doesn’t bother Yuri at all, in fact, it’s somehow reassuring how the title didn’t change their relationship that much. They’re friends, after all. Friends who love each other. He couldn’t have asked for more.

Otabek tightens the grip on Yuri’s waist, draping an arm over his middle. “You liked it too. I saw you.” The guy’s practically draped over Yuri, one leg on top of his, and nuzzling slightly on the crook of his neck. Any barely romantic shit movie could get to him if he’s cuddled to Otabek; that’s cheating. It doesn’t make it good.

Yuri grips Otabek’s hair with the hand that was just caressing the short hair on the back of his head and tugs, making him look up. “You’re cheating; it was you, not the flick, you foul playing fucker.”

“Oh, please, Yura,” Otabek leans in to plant a sweet kiss on Yuri’s pouty lips, yet the blond keeps on scowling at him. “You _love it_ when I sing for you like the guy did.”

Yuri huffs and bites Otabek’s lower lip to prove the point. Doesn’t even try to hide the satisfying smirk Otabek’s wince brings up in him. Two can play this little game. “You wouldn’t sing this tooth rotting sugary shit to me.” Otabek just chuckles. There’s something Yuri’s missing because he doesn’t get the joke at all. “What?”

“You never really check on the lyrics, don’t you?” Yuri must be flushing like crazy, judging by the sudden heat in the room and that _Otabek is laughing his ass off at him._ The shithead. He scowls and pouts and is about to say something when Otabek lifts his hand to point at the door. “Yura. I think there’s someone there.”

“Let them wait. I watched an hour and a half of that sappy shit, I deserve some compensation.” Yuri leans in to lick on Otabek’s lips; the older man replies immediately, a hand darted to the back of Yuri’s neck to hold him close as he kisses him hungrily, eager. To pull off a bit too soon, earning an exasperated whine out of Yuri. He loves to tease like this. He knows he always wins when he does; he’s mesmerizing, and Yuri’s mind goes blank the second their lips touch, forgetting what they were even talking about.

“Not now. They’re still waiting.” Yuri whimpers, staring into his boyfriend’s eyes. Waiting for a kiss that’s not coming. Of course it’s not. Because someone had the bright idea of interrupting them, and Otabek might be a lot of things, but never impolite. Damn it. He scoffs and gets up from the bed, letting the man roll onto his back and grab his phone from a bedside table. He stomps all the way to the door to make clear that he had no intention of getting up. Only earns a little chuckle from Otabek. He’s just doing to get the whole bed to himself, isn’t he?

And who would even knock on his door just like that, without warning? Mila wouldn’t come to them; she knows Yuri’s not alone and even if she didn’t, she always texts first. She’s almost walked into their Skype conversations more than once; she knows better. Or at least, she’s learnt her lesson, even if she wasn't half as embarrassed as Yuri was. Quite the opposite, Yuri can guess, by the questions she lets slip every time he’s distracted enough. He’s definitely not talking about the size of his boyfriend’s cock with _her_ , no matter how subtle she thinks she’s being with her wording. Yuri’s not that much of an idiot. And Yakov would have shouted at him from the other side of the door by now, especially knowing Otabek was there. He’s _not_ risking himself to the sight of two pretty naked teens if he can help it; he’s said so once. Something about Viktor. More than once. Good thing the geezer’s completely lack of shame did some good for once.

Yuri yanks the door open. “Who the f-?” He freezes. Shit. He forgot about him. About him and the night out and that he _doesn’t know_. Fuck. He can do nothing but stare. Why the hell isn’t his body responding? He needs to say something, to do something. To step in between him and-

“We’re coming for dinner!” Viktor lets out that stupid grin of his, Katsuki hand on his, looking sheepishly embarrassed behind his husband. “Oh? Are you with company?”

Yuri knows he was too slow, that he’s in trouble the second Viktor’s smile vanishes from his face and _damn, he misses it right away._ Not that the man is not smirking at him, but it’s that smirk that makes Yuri’s blood run cold. The one that Viktor makes when he’s realized he’s been lied to, cheated on. The one that tells Yuri it’s either to kill or be killed, and he needs to step up his game if he’s about to get out of this situation. He’s gonna defend himself and Otabek to the last breath, tooth and claw and whatever comes.

He wants to believe it won’t get far enough for him to cross a point of no return. He does want Viktor to know, to understand. He’s not even actually pissed about the teasing, for fuck’s sake. He just… He’d like to put it all to rest. He wants to be true to himself and to the world, to stop hiding. If it would only be that easy.

“Yuri,” Viktor speaks slowly and calmly and Yuri can feel the fire radiating from his body. He’s furious. The blond’s body stiffens at the thought, crossing his arms in front of him. “You’ve got a felon in your bed.”

He turns to look desperately for some comfort, some answer, some strength, on Otabek’s face. He’s already sitting up on the bed, his feet planted firm on the floor, his shoulders up, his back straight. A soldier’s stare in his eyes, straight forward, fearless. Or that’s how it looks from the outside, but Yuri can see beyond; he’s learnt to read the tiny twitches of his mouth, the creases on his frown, the tightness of his fingers. He looks panicked, ready to pounce and run off. He looks at Yuri and the blond knows: he’s crying out for help.

Yuri just has to defend his boyfriend. Even from his own kin. “Yeah,” He starts, walking towards Otabek to sit on his lap, an arm draped across the older boy’s shoulders while a hand creeps up to hold him by his waist. “I had him in a number of other places, too. So?”

Viktor walks in, laughing quietly to lean on the dresser, hands in his pockets. That sickly sweet and still somehow threatening smile sending shivers down Yuri’s spine. He hears Katsuki entering, closing the door. Not moving forward. He’s too busy holding Viktor’s stare to worry about him. “Are you telling me, Yuri,” Every word that comes out of Viktor’s mouth sounds calculated, designed especially to hide the seething anger behind it. Yuri can feel it clearly anyway; he’s known him for long. Viktor is not one to kick and break and cry out. He’s cold, he’s ruthless when he’s mad. “That _this_ ,” Yet nothing can hide the disgust in his words, the venoms dripping from his tongue, “is your boyfriend?”

Yuri feels every word on Otabek’s chest, digging like carefully aimed bullets; he barely flinches at every pause, the hand on his waist gripping onto his flesh like Yuri’s the only shield he’s got against the hatred. He’s suffered too much of that already. Enough for a lifetime. Yuri’s not allowing Viktor to inflict any more damage. “You have no idea of who he is.”

Viktor just chuckles, flipping his hair back. “And you do? If I remember correctly, he’s hidden his crimes from you.”

Crimes. Petty fights and safe havens. Viktor really has no idea of what he’s talking about. But there must be a reason for it: Otabek’s coach might not have the details. Maybe no one’s expected to. Maybe Yuri shouldn’t say a thing. Although he knows if someone were to understand, it should be him. If someone should know what it’s like to be rejected for who you are, and the things you do, it should be him. Him, who became a legend in a sport marked as unmanly by default. Him, who’s had more affairs with men than Yuri could ever count. Him, who ran off to another fucking country for a drunken boy at a party. He should get it.

But Yuri has never asked Otabek if he was allowed to share. He doesn’t feel he is. It’s not his story to tell, after all. “Have you got any idea of what he’s done, what he’s been through?” He stands up despite the hand on his waist trying to stop him. Otabek deserves better than this. A bit of respect, some fucking decent treatment. Viktor hasn’t even spoken to him and he dares to speak _about_ him, as if he was a furniture or a fucking vase? How dare he? “Do you even know what the fuck are you talking about?!” He’s walked the few step separating him from Viktor without even noticing; he can hear the offense, the high pitch in his voice, his ears buzzing at the sound. Since when has he been screaming? “You took the fuck off to Japan for someone you barely knew the name of, and you’re preaching _me?!_ What even makes you any better?!”

“He’s dangerous, Yuri!” The smile fades. His voice falters. Barely. It can just be Yuri’s impression, just some speck of hope that’s still begging Viktor to understand. “You can’t just run off with the first thug that looks your way!”

Thug. Is that what Otabek is to him? Some street lowlife and nothing more?

Is that all he can be to Viktor’s eyes?

Yuri feels his teeth gritting, hissing through. “Don’t you dare.” His words coming out impossibly slow, enraged. Otabek isn't some common street punk, playing tough because mommy and daddy didn’t wanna play along with him enough. He’s a warrior. A survivor. And he won’t be treated like any less. Not in front of Yuri. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ , call him that.”

“You don’t find it risky, then? To hang around with someone who’s constantly getting into fights and jail cells?” Viktor talks like the whole truth of the Universe unwraps before his eyes, as if it would be common sense to kick out such a treasure of a guy for a fucking bruise. One thing is ignorance, but Yuri’s sure now. Viktor doesn’t want to know, he’s not willing to ask. He just wants them apart. Yuri is having none of that.

“You’re the problem, not him! We were fine before you showed up!” In fact, Yuri had just met the people that made Otabek who he is; they would’ve talked about Otabek’s family sooner or later. He didn’t _need_ the intervention. He didn’t need the pain. “We were fine before you threw this whole shitstorm at us! You’ve-”

“Yura.”

“What?!” He snaps at Otabek just as an impulse, a collateral damage of the fire consuming him; Otabek does not reply to the aggression on his voice, he understands Yuri well, but doesn’t look at him either. His eyes are fixated on one point: straight at the door, where Katsuki’s still standing, head down and his arms clutching his middle, his shoulders starting to tremble.

Oh.

Shit.

Yuri scoffs at Viktor and takes a step towards the shaking man at the door. He doesn’t want to get into his personal space, scare him any more than he already has. “Hey.” He waits for any form of answer. After a while, he gets a nod. “I’ll keep it down, okay?” Pause. Katsuki’s trying hard to breathe slowly; he already knows the drill. It still scares Yuri to bits but there’s not much he can do. He provoked this, he needs to keep his distance. He feels Katsuki is gonna shatter like a glass figurine if he does so much as touching him. “I’m sorry.” It sounds muffled and low, even forced on the ears of anyone who doesn't understand the way they relate. Katsuki never asks for more than Yuri can give, and these are words too hard for him to come out with. It’s as honest as it gets. Katsuki nods, a little smile peeking from the long bangs hiding his face.

Yuri should have known better. Viktor should have known better. They’re just hurting themselves, and everyone around them.

There’s no point in feeding the lie much longer.

A phone rings. Yuri turns around. Otabek takes it and rushes to the bathroom, without closing the door, without even glancing at him. Yuri still swear he caught a certain darkness in the boy’s eyes. A certain shadow. A certain fear.

A look Yuri has already seen before.

He hears Viktor calling for Yuuri, sees him opening his arms to his husband, cooing at him to calm him down. _Now he remembers._ He wouldn’t have realized either if Otabek hadn’t told him Katsuki needed silence, but then again, he’s not his husband. Viktor needs to stop nosing around other people’s business and take care of his own. Yuri walks to the bathroom door to peer inside, his hands unconsciously falling on the tiger bracelet on his wrist. Otabek’s voice feels low, cold. Empty. He’s pretending. Yuri can’t understand the words but he understand the tone, he can notice the short answers, the conversation cut short before Otabek’s answer reaches his lips. Whoever it was, and Yuri already has an idea of who that might be, has just hung up on Otabek, who’s left looking at his phone, his blank mask on and cracking on the edges. His lip trembles; a tiny gesture, but it says enough.

“Beka.”

The older boy walks towards the door, towards Yuri, but stops far enough to still be out of reach. Looking at his feet. A hand gripping his arm tightly, the other about to crush his phone, shaking at the force of the grasp. This is exactly what Yuri doesn’t need right now. This is not his decision to make, not his tale to tell. _Please let him be strong._

“Beka? Please talk to me.” His voice feels small, pleading. He knows he’s been stared at. But not by the person he needs a reaction from. “Beka, look at me.” He repeats, firm, almost pissed. He tries something else. “What did they say?” Otabek’s shoulders drop down. Whatever it was, it was bad enough for him to lose his determination in a second. Not that he wasn’t scared before, but he didn’t get insulted, nor threatened; those were the worst things Viktor could do. This has to be a certainty. He’s just been informed. Whatever it was they told him, he cannot change it. He can’t fix it.

“Otabek,” Viktor lets go of his husband, holding him only by his hand, to turn to them, “Are you being threatened?” His voice sounds warmer, compassionate. He’s finally trying to reach out. But Otabek has already gone into his shell again; after his family calls, it’s not easy to get him out. “Are you being harassed?” The word does something to him: he flinches, shrinks slightly, pulling his shoulders up, balling his hands tighter. Viktor doesn’t see it, apparently. He takes a step further; insists. “Is it your _friends?_ ” The words sounds like bile stinging in his tongue, “Are they forcing you to something?” He really has no idea, does he? Otabek seems intimidated by the sole presence of Viktor so close to him, almost sinking into the wall tiles; his blank stare still fixated at his own feet, not a speck of emotion in those eyes. Not something anyone can read, at least. Yuri doesn’t dare make a move. He could scream at Viktor to leave him alone, but then again, it might not stop him, and just make everything worse. He could answer on Otabek’s behalf but that is not his place, not his fear. He sees Katsuki tugging at Viktor’s hand, but the man doesn’t stop. “Is it the Mafia or something?” This guy is seriously ridiculous; he doesn’t even know why was Otabek in jail, does he? “Have you told your parents about it?”

Yuri can’t tell if it was the mention of his parents, or the honest concern in Viktor’s voice, or his hand on Otabek’s shoulder, but the boy practically jumps at the touch, his breath hitching on his throat in a loud sob. His hand flies from his arm to his mouth to stop himself from crying, the telltale glisten of tears at the corner of his eye already visible, his eyes wide in an expression Yuri can only describe as panic, looking for his. He runs to Otabek’s side, slapping Viktor’s hand away to hold onto the boy’s shoulders, to hug him against his chest. Otabek doesn’t react, frozen on the spot. “Beka, say something.” Yuri whispers into his hair, and feels him shivering in his arms, his chest heaving as if there wasn’t enough air in the world for him. Otabek moves the hand in between him and Yuri to clutch onto his chest, burying his nose deep into his shirt, and crawl back to Yuri’s spine, tracing the creases of it with his fingertips. Yuri responds at the touch, humming slightly on the top of Otabek’s head, disregarding the sound of the phone colliding somewhere against the floor. Only listening to the way his breath changes; from a rapid-fire to a slow compass, melting against Yuri’s.

Viktor doesn’t try to cut them off, gripping tightly onto his husband’s hand. His voice sounds shaky when it finally comes out. “Did something happen to your parents, Otabek?” The hand on Yuri’s back clings tightly onto his shirt. “Are they sick?” Yuri starts to notice the rumble of a laughter, stomped down. He remembers. The hurt in Otabek’s eyes, the sharpness in his words, the bloodthirst of that laughter. Trying to cling onto somebody else’s pain so as to not to feel his own. He holds Otabek closer, if that’s even possible, tighter. _You’re not alone, please don’t let it win._ “You can talk to us, Otabek. It’s okay.”

There’s a chuckle against Yuri’s collarbone; a hand running from the middle of his back to his waist, pushing him off; Yuri lets Otabek face Viktor, snaking a hand around his waist just for him not to forget he’s got someone besides him. That he doesn’t have to fight this alone. But Yuri knows this won’t be a fight: this will be a bloodshed: Otabek will push and push until he gets any form of reaction from Viktor, something that tells him his pain is legitimate, valid. Something that says not even the living fucking legend can cross just a fire and pop up on the other side unburnt.

“You really wanna know, huh?” Otabek’s voice is tinted with disdain and disgust and a fury infectious enough for it to be clinging and dripping to his every word. Katsuki flinches at the sight of his predatory smile, practically hides behind Viktor at the sounds of his mock chuckle. Viktor raises a brow but says nothing: he must have heard the pieces of it jiggling inside of him. There’s something broken underneath Otabek’s thick skin and the sharp edges are burying themselves against his flesh, asking for release. Otabek glares at Viktor, and the man doesn’t shy off. “No, Viktor, they’re fine, now that the prodigal son is back home.” He chuckles darkly and Yuri can feel it crawling underneath his skin, like maggots trying to feed of his flesh, to make him as dark, as venomous as the words in the air. “The one they tried to forget about.” He spits out the sentence as if it was a hot coal burning inside of him, never looking away, no matter how the anger flows through his gritted teeth. “The one _they_ have kicked and left for dead like a fucking dog on the street.”

Viktor’s gaze starts to look glassy, bright with unshed tears. He presses his lips into a thin line, holding his own repugnance for as long as he can, trying to give Otabek space. The boy’s hands start to shake, knuckles white and fingernails dug deep into his palms; he still refuses to let go of this façade, to break down, to show his own terror. “The one that carries their family name with honor and glory,” he raises his voice in mock triumph and Viktor feels it like a slap in the face, flinching at the sound, “disregarding all the shit. That wasn’t their son. Not the stealing, the alley nights, the bar fights, the vomiting on the streets, the fucking around, the bruises, the-” Viktor takes his lower lip in between his teeth, biting harder at every word, at every scar. Yuri knows them: Yuri’s seen the cuts on his palms, the badly healed scratches on his hips, the sole cigarette burn on his inner thigh as a reminder of what he’s done, what he’s been submitted to. He squeezes his shoulders, trying to shut him up, trying to stop his head for remembering it all, all the things he couldn’t protect Otabek from. All the ghosts he has no power against. All the shadows he can’t fight.

But Viktor takes the lead: he shuts Otabek up, pulling him in an embrace so sudden the boy doesn’t quite react, his hands lifted on the air right at his sides, too stunned to keep trying to poke on the wound enough to stain them all too. “It’s okay.” He hums against Otabek’s hair, rocking him slightly, and the boy can only hold onto him, barely touching him, as if it’s brand him further. Viktor Nikiforov, the confessed sodomite, holding him as a parent would hold his child. His parents would have a stroke if they saw. They’d move Heaven and Earth to pull him apart, to hide him again, to move him again. He can always find more friends; _better_ friends. Normal friends. He always had to, anyways. “You don’t have to say anything else.” Viktor lets a hand brush the long strands of Otabek’s hair, scratching slightly, sooting against his scalp. Yuri has let go, paralyzed by Viktor’s reaction, and is just standing in awe, watching the boy’s shoulders trembling subtly, his body stiffen. “It’s alright.” Viktor repeats and there’s a little noise, like a bitten down whimper hidden against his chest. “You’re safe.” Otabek’s arms clutch on Viktor’s frame tighter in a sudden jerk, a loud sob cutting the thick silence in the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry, you’re good, you’ll be fine.” Viktor repeats like a mantra, over and over, rocking them both slightly back and forth, as Otabek just holds onto him harder, as if his presence, his words were the only thing still keeping him sane. As if he’d lose himself if he let go. Viktor cooes him like a child as he cries, muffled against the man’s shirt, every word still branded on his memory. _You’re sick, you’re contagious, you’ll be fine as long as you keep yourself apart, you can fight it. You need to fight it. We don’t deserve you not to._

Maybe they do. Maybe he should just let go, just stop hiding, kicking himself for every filthy thought and hungry need; for every shotglass and every kiss. For every blue knuckle and every word spat out back. For every _faggot_ he had to hear and sucked out of some bar rat’s bloody lips, for every _bitch_ he had to slam out of someone’s head against a wall. Maybe they deserve the shame; maybe they deserve the stain on their too polished family name. Maybe he deserves love. As unrestrained, as vast, as pure as everyone else’s, not this clutching in the shadows, plotting their schedules, sneaking around. Maybe he deserves to be loud.

Maybe he deserves to be happy.

Otabek lets his hands lose their grip slowly, falling to the his sides, shoving Viktor off of him. He walks to the bathroom to wash his face, silent. He brushes Yuri’s fingers with his on the way; just a subtle gesture to make him know everything’s fine. He walks out to be received by a hand firmly extended at him.

“Let’s start this over. Viktor Nikiforov.“ The man flashes him the most professional smile on his portfolio.

Otabek chuckles. “Hasn’t this happened already? Although,” he turns and Yuri snorts at the memory, “slightly differently.”

“Huh?” Viktor just tilts his head in confusion, yet clasps his hands together a second later. “Anyway, let us take you to dinner and start over, alright? As an apology.”

Otabek stares still at Yuri, who smiles back at him, that warm honest smile they gift each other with every morning they get to wake up together. That smile that gives Otabek reason to move on, always forward, always by his side. “I need to do something first.” He takes the leopard printed phone off the bedside table, and scroll down through the photos they’re not allowed to show to the world. A click, and a specific one pops up: Yuri looking right into the camera, bright green eyes still clouded with sleep and a smile dancing on his lips, shoulders pale and golden locks draped all around them; Otabek’s head nuzzling at the crook of his neck, laughter twitching his mouth up, teeth bared and eyes scrunched closed. He can almost hear himself cackling against Yuri’s soft skin again, after some silly remark on how they both looked like they haven’t slept in years. Otabek would disagree, saying that was the most beautiful photo they could have ever taken. He can almost feel the punch on his shoulder, the ‘you fucking sap’ almost screamed at the sky. He didn’t care to be heard then, not when he could touch him.

He gives the phone back to its owner, and leans into the caress of his fingers. Yuri answers with a quick peck on his lips, a quick glance on the still bright screen. A last click.

A smile. One that fits them both. Warm and wide and free. Finally free.

 

_@Yuri-Plisetsky sorry for the phone hijack, Kitten. Love, @Otabek-Altin #Boyfriends #Love #KazGang thank you_

 

Yes, finally free.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i've got three more fics and three more projects so far, but no order in which to post them. so I'm really open to any suggestions. what's the next thing you'd like to read about this verse?


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